


Sleeping Geralt

by combeferre_writer01



Series: The Witcher Stories [9]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: "pining dumbass trying to catch a lover they scorned by accident", BAMF Jaskier | Dandelion, Fix It Fic, Fuck Destiny, Geralt Whump, Hurt Jaskier, Jaskier Whump, M/M, Sleeping Curse, Sort Of, True Love's Kiss, geralt's dumb, idiots to lovers, jaskier's kickass with a bow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:01:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22853656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/combeferre_writer01/pseuds/combeferre_writer01
Summary: Request: "...a twist on sleeping beauty with Geralt as sleeping beauty and jaskier pulling out a hidden talent with archery to get to Geralt."
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: The Witcher Stories [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1599160
Comments: 79
Kudos: 393





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheCollector](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCollector/gifts).



It was Yennefer who told Jaskier about the curse. No-one else knew how to find the poor bard. He’d been under everyone’s radar ever since Geralt had yelled at him on that mountain. 

Yennefer was one of the first people to hear about the curse. A witch--whose name no longer belonged to a living person-- was bragging to her about this Witcher she had finally taken down. The people of a small village were whispering of a horrifying mutant. The witch knew she wouldn’t have stood a chance against the Witcher in a fight. The Witcher, however, didn’t stand a chance against her magic.

* * *

“I’ll go to him,” Jaskier nodded slowly. “I don’t know why you’re insisting, though.” The once bard was skinning a rabbit. “Am I feeding you or what are you doing?” 

Yennefer looked shocked at the man. The last time she saw him he was trying not to cry as he slowly made his way back down the mountain after Geralt had unfairly torn him a new one. Now he was plainly dressed and had a bow and a quiver of arrows.

“I’ll stay.” She seated herself on a log near Jaskier. “What have you been doing?” 

“Getting by.” 

“You’re starting to sound like him.” Yennefer chuckled humorlessly. Jaskier didn’t reply. “What’s going on, Bard? Where’s your instrument?” 

“I traded it for the bow and quiver,” Jaskier dismissed. “I didn’t need it anymore but the bow comes in handy when you get hungry.” 

“When will you leave?” Yennefer wanted to change the topic. Why wasn’t he talking nonstop? Why wasn’t he wearing colours that allowed her to see him from yards away?

“At daybreak. There’s no point in travelling now; I’ll lose my way and that’s nothing I’m in the mood to do right now.” 

“Do you need me to-”

“No.” 

“Jaskier, what’s happened?” She asked gently. 

Jaskier finally looked up from his bloody hands. “The same thing that happened to you. He left.” He scoffed and looked down at his hands again. “He was always so scared of us leaving him but pushed us away. I gave up on trying to pick myself up. I’m not as strong as you are, Yen.”

* * *

Jaskier tucked himself between two wide trees. He could perfectly see the bandits but knew they couldn’t see him. The once bard took a stance, knocking an arrow, and took aim. 

The first shot, a warning to the other two, went straight through the neck of the beefiest man and he dropped like a rock into the sea. Rather than running, the men opted for looking around and drawing their own weapons. Jaskier shook his head at their stupidity. 

Not wanting to take more time with the fools, he knocked a second arrow and launched it into the hornets’ nest hanging from the branch above their heads. The hornets chased them off so he could slip through. 

The once bard didn’t hum as he walked. He didn’t even seem to miss the lute he once brought with him everywhere he went. The man was hardly a shell of who he used to be. This fact made Yennefer worry as they parted ways that morning. 

However, Jaskier did a lot of thinking as he walked. The changes in him didn’t go unnoticed by himself. He was aware of all the changes he was going through and he didn’t know how to feel about it. Was he finally growing up or had something in him died? Strangely enough, Jaskier felt there wasn’t that much of a difference. 

He stopped skipping from town to town sleeping with anyone who asked him. He no longer panicked if he didn’t get enough money to eat after playing his heart out in some pub that wreaked of sweat, ale, what was probably piss, and the gods didn’t want to know what else. 

Instead, Jaskier preferred the songs of nature. The wind rustling through the leaves and grasses, the songs of birds and in the small critters going to and fro under the branches of bushes. The footsteps of deer when you were silent enough to see the colours of their eyes without scaring them off. Even the wings of insects made sounds if you were far enough from the loud villages. 

Jaskier didn’t mind the solitude anymore. Sometimes he found himself wondering how he used to manage the noisy life of playing at banquettes for the rich with the high pitch laughs; the constant tapping of their heeled shoes on the too-hard floors. 

How were things going to change when he got to Geralt? Probably not a lot. If Yennefer of Vengerberg couldn’t break the curse, what could he do to fix things? He didn’t know any magic. He was good a lute (if he had some practice time to retrain his hands) and he was good with a bow. But he knew nothing about breaking curses.

* * *

It took Jaskier a week to get to where Yennefer had brought Geralt. A small cabin in the woods that you wouldn’t find unless someone told you exactly where to go. 

Opening the door, he was met with a terrifying sight. Geralt looked dead. The Witcher’s skin was already so pale but he wasn’t moving. He rolled over in his sleep; he hummed if he was having a good dream and grunted when he was having a nightmare. His chest was hardly moving as he breathed. The site made Jaskier’s own heart skip a beat. 

Jaskier had convinced himself that he wasn’t going to react to this. To seeing Geralt under some magic spell that the Witcher would have done to the end of the world to free Jaskier from. Yet here he was. The love he’d felt all those months ago flooding back as though the Witcher hadn’t said anything foul to him up on that mountain. 

“By the gods, Geralt,” Jaskier whispered. He closed the door of the cabin behind him and slowly walked closer to the seemingly dead Witcher on the bed. “The things that happen to you… I don’t think a warm bath is going to fix this one.” 

There was no response. No hum. No grunt. No eye roll. 

Jaskier laid his bow and quiver on the table before sitting on the bed beside the unresponsive Witcher. “What are Yen and I going to do with you, Geralt? You know, this isn’t what I thought you meant when you told me that Witchers only retire when they grow old and slow. You aren’t even  _ that _ old from what you’ve told me.” 

The once bard brushed a strand of hair off Geralt’s forehead. “Gods I should have told you before this happened… Before that damned mountain. It wouldn’t have changed anything, I know that. I just...after everything we went through together...I fell in love with you along the way. I did. I tried for a while to ignore it but it always came back. It was always stronger when we rejoined after months of being apart.

“What happened to us bumping into each other in some random inn, hm? Yennefer tracked me down and told me what happened to you. That she couldn’t undo it. She avenged you. If that’s even the right word to use. She killed the bitch that did this because she wouldn’t undo it.” 

Jaskier sniffled and that was the first sign he was crying. He rubbed the tears from his eyes with his sleeve. “What am I to do, now you bastard?” He sniffled again. “I was supposed to be the one to grow still first. The weak human. Wake up, damn it! At least rollover. Tell me to shut up so you can go back to sleep.” 

Nothing. 

“I just-” Jaskier leaned down and kissed Geralt. As he’d expected, the Witcher didn’t respond. Jaskier stood up. “I’ll leave you to it. I need to calm down.” He turned away from the bed and rubbed his eyes again just as Geralt grunted. 

Jaskier spun on his heel so quickly he nearly lost his balance. He looked with wide eyes at the Witcher. His orange eyes blinking sluggishly. Next, Geralt turned his head to look at Jaskier and his eyes instantly flooded with confusion and something Jaskier could only think was guilt. 

Geralt tried to sit up but his arms gave out under him and he fell back to the bed beneath him. Jaskier hesitantly stepped forward. Would it be alright for him to help the Witcher or would Geralt somehow find a way to blame this on him as well?

Going against his gut feelings, Jaskier stepped even closer and helped Geralt to sit up, helping him sit against the wall behind him. There was a water pitcher on the table near his bow so Jaskier grabbed it and filled a cup from beside the pitcher with the water and held it out to Geralt. 

For lack of a better word, Jaskier was scared. Would Geralt lash out at him? Did Geralt want him here? What was he supposed to be doing? Should he leave now that the Witcher was awake and moving? How would-

“You’re thinking too much,” Geralt grumbled. “What happened?” 

Jaskier didn’t look up from his dirty boots. “Yennefer told me where you were. The witch that cursed you was bragging about it to her and she found you. The witch wouldn’t lift the curse and Yennefer couldn’t figure out how, so she killed the witch. She found me and I came to see you.” 

No over-exaggerated stories about bandits? No song about a butterfly he saw along the way? Where was his lute? Why was there a bow on the table?

“You’ve changed.” Geralt was still scrutinizing the man. 

“A bit, yeah.” 

“Why?” 

“Felt it was time.” Jaskier tucked a strand of his too-long hair behind his ear. “You’re obviously alright, so I’ll be on my way… I think.” Jaskier stood and turned to leave again. 

“Wait!” 

Jaskier paused. “Look, Geralt. I just wanted to make sure you were alive. And you are. So-”

“I’m sorry.” 

The once bard turned and looked at the Witcher. “What?” 

“I’m sorry. For what I said on the mountain. I was looking for you when the Witch found me.” 

“Why?” Jaskier sat back down. 

“Because you didn’t deserve what I said to you.” Geralt sighed and swung his legs over the side of the bed. 

“What’s done is done. Forget it happened,” Jaskier tried to dismiss. 

“You haven’t.” 

“No. Not quite.” The breathy chuckle that came from the once bard held little emotion. 

“How long was I out?”

“I’m not sure. At least a fortnight.” Jaskier shrugged. 

Neither man liked the heavy awkwardness that floated between them. This wasn’t natural for them. At least, it hadn’t been. 

“What do you want, Geralt?” Jaskier sighed. 

“To fix things. That’s why I was looking for you.” 

Jaskier sat in the chair at the table and exhaled, hiding his face in his hands as he bent at the waist, leaning his elbows on his thighs. So much about him had changed. His lifestyle, his way of thinking, how he moved. Everything was different. Not just his longer hair and sun-kissed skin. He had  _ killed _ people. 

Jaskier shook his head. “I can’t go back, Geralt. I… Things are different now. I’m not the same. I-” He shook his head again. 

“Jaskier, where’s your lute?” 

The archer didn’t reply. 

“Jaskier.” 

“I don’t know! Alright? I don’t know. I-I traded it! I didn’t need it anymore. I couldn’t fucking use it anymore.” Jaskier stood up. “I can’t do this. I can’t. I need to leave.” He swung his quiver over his back and picked up his bow. He headed for the door one last time. 

“Jask-” Geralt would have hit the floor had Jaskier’s reflexes not quickened over his time away. Going without food for a few weeks leaves one weak, so it would seem. “This is what I wanted to fix.” 

“I can’t be fixed because there’s nothing to fix.” Jaskier seated Geralt in the chair he had vacated. “I’ll catch you something to eat so you can regain your strength. Roach is outside. You’ll be fine. Once you’ve eaten, I’ll be on my way.”

“You aren’t listening to me, Jaskier.” 

Jaskier sighed again. “I’m not the happy-go-lucky bard who’d speak for hours on end and sing of happy times.” Jaskier paused. “Before Yennefer hunted me down, I hadn’t spoken to another person in three months since I traded the lute for my bow and quiver. 

“I liked to think we were friends, Geralt. I drove my one friend away and I didn’t want to hurt anyone else as much as I hurt you, so I stayed away and got by on my own. I got used to it, I’m good with a bow. I can make it on my own now. You don’t need to babysit me.” 

“You broke the curse.” 

“No, I didn’t. I happened to be here when it wore off.” 

“The curse just happened to break seconds after you kissed me?” 

Jaskier sighed again and looked away from Geralt for a second. His eyes were hardened when he looked back up. “You heard everything I said, didn’t you?”

“Yeah. I did.” 

“Fantastic.”

* * *

Jaskier set up his bedroll on the floor of the cabin laid down. He’d helped Geralt back to the bed. The Witcher hadn’t said anything in a while, so Jaskier assumed he was asleep. 

“How did you get here?” 

“I walked. How else?” 

“What did you encounter? You said I was out for at least a fortnight which means it took you roughly that long to get here.” Geralt went on. 

“It took me a week; eating, sleeping, and moving. I left where I was camped the morning after Yennefer found me to find you, then I found you.” 

“Something happened and you’re not telling me what.” Geralt rolled over and looked at the archer. “What happened, Jaskier?” 

Jaskier sighed and pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes. “I encountered a trio of bandits. I killed one and sent two the other two running with hornets. Alright?” 

“You killed a man?”

“It wasn’t the first time. Things happen.” 

“How many have you killed?” Geralt asked. 

Jaskier thought for a moment. “Six. The bandit, someone trying to rape a woman, someone trying to steal a cripple's horse, another bandit, some soldier thrusting his sword towards an unarmed man, and a different rapist in a different town. In reverse order.” 

“The guilt you feel doesn’t leave. You never forget the look on their face as the light leaves their eyes.” 

“I gathered. The first two still visit my dreams from time to time.” Jaskier rolled over so he was facing away from Geralt. “You need rest, Geralt.” 

“Will you be here when I wake up?”

“I don’t know.”

* * *

Geralt didn’t fall asleep right away. He couldn’t. He waited for the telltale signs that Jaskier had fallen asleep. Deeper, slower breathing and gentle snores he wouldn’t have been able to hear if not for his heightened senses. 

“I love you too, Jaskier.” 

Jaskier stirred at the sound of his name but didn’t wake up. Geralt wondered how his old friend had been sleeping in the woods. When was the last time he slept with a roof over his head? When was the last time he ate a meal he hadn’t hunted and killed himself? When did he stop wearing the ungodly bright clothing he was once so fond of? Did he miss the applauding and loudly singing audiences in the halls of kings? 

“You’re thinking too loudly,” Jaskier mumbled from the floor. He was still half asleep. “I can feel the steam coming out of your ears from here.” 

Steam from his ears? There’s a peak of Jaskier’s nonsense speech. Maybe he could get more information from the archer now that his mind wasn’t completely with him yet.

“Do you miss performing?” Geralt asked, his voice hushed as to not wake the once bard more. 

“Sometimes. Not as much as I’d thought.” 

“Why did you stop?” 

“Like I told you: I didn’t want to hurt anyone else.” 

_ Or you didn’t want anyone hurting you again _ . Geralt thought. “Go back to sleep, Jaskier. I’ll be here when you wake up.” 

He was going to fix this.


	2. When You Can't Back Up, Push Forward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt and Jaskier talk somethings out. Geralt's still recovering from the side effects of the sleeping curse and isn't used to being taken care of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *WARNINGS: Geralt almost has a panic attack and Jaskier accidentally cuts his hand.   
> **I'm thinking of adding some drama with bandits in the next chapter so Geralt can see Jaskier in action. Tell me what you guys think or if you have suggestions in the comments.

Geralt’s heart stopped for a moment when he sat up in the morning and didn’t see Jaskier. His bedroll was still there. He’d be coming back, wouldn’t he? 

Fuck. The tightness in his chest--around his heart--is this what Jaskier felt every time Geralt left while he was sleeping in the dead of night? Only...Geralt never left anything behind. There was no reason for Jaskier to ever hope that the Witcher would be returning. 

He hadn’t realized his breathing increased, quicker and shallower, until the door opened to the cabin opened. Jaskier strolled in, dropping two rabbits on the table. 

“Geralt?” Jaskier was unsure of what to do. The Witcher was on the verge of a panic attack. Geralt had calmed Jaskier down from enough to know what was happening but that didn’t mean he knew how to stop his own. 

As he had the day before, Jaskier sat on the side of the bed after depositing his bow and quiver on the table. He took one of Geralt’s hands in his own and the Witcher’s eyes widened. Not at the contact, but at the roughness of Jaskier’s hands. The once smooth skin was now hardened and calloused. He had a few blisters where calluses were sure to form. How were these the same hands that massaged the muscle aches from his shoulders and wash post-fight grime from his hair? 

“You’re safe, Geralt.” Jaskier broke his panicked daze again. “Despite the burning stabbing in your lungs, you aren’t going to die. Match your breathing with mine.” Jaskier proceeded to coach Geralt’s breathing. A couple of minutes went by and Geralt could breathe once more. 

The Witcher fell back so he was laying on his back, light-headed and spent. “I thought you left.” 

“That’s why you panicked?” Jaskier was already sitting at the table again. “I left my bedroll so you’d know I was coming back. We didn’t have anything to eat so I went hunting and gathered some herbs. Got Roach water.” 

The roles were reversed and Geralt hated it. Why the fuck was he being taken care of? Why did Jaskier have that damned bow? Jaskier should have been sitting at the table, plucking out the tune of his latest song.

“What changed in you, Geralt?” Jaskier drew a dagger from a slot on the side of the quiver and began skinning the first rabbit. “We talked about why I traded my lute. Why are you scared of my leaving when you made it undeniably clear, eleven months ago, that you wanted just that?”

Geralt sat back up and ran a hand over his face. “The silence. Knowing--after six months--that we weren’t going to cross paths in a tavern by the coast. No-one had heard of or from a bard named Jaskier or Julian.” 

“I wasn’t even in Cintra six months after.” Jaskier sighed. “I don’t remember where I was.” 

“The town I was in when the witch found me… Someone told me in the town before that they saw a hunter matching your description going that way.” 

Jaskier shook his head as he put the pieces together. “You didn’t find me because I travel along the paths but not on them. By the time Yen found you and tracked me down I had covered more ground.” 

“I am sorry, Jaskier, for what I said to you on the mountain. I don’t expect your forgiveness, but I would like to earn it. If you give me the chance.” 

Jaskier tore the blade of his dagger through the furry side of the rabbit so quickly and with so much force that Geralt found himself wondering how the archer hadn’t cut himself. 

“Things aren’t going back to the way they were, Geralt. They can’t; I’ve grown up.” 

“Do you miss your lute?”

“What does-”

“Just answer the question, Jaskier,” Geralt pleaded. 

“Sometimes. Sitting in front of a fire but I’m not tired enough for sleep or sitting in a shallow cave waiting for a rainstorm to pass. What does this have to do with anything?”

Geralt didn’t reply right away. How could he explain this? He knew there was no going back. There was never any going back. But that doesn’t mean they go forward… 

“Should you allow it, I’d like to find you one.” Geralt shook his head to stop Jaskier from interrupting him. “Music’s part of who you are. Don’t lose yourself because I’m a selfish...how you’d say ‘horse’s arse’.” 

Jaskier scoffed but said nothing more. 

Geralt pushed himself off the bed and cursed himself when he stumbled slightly. “Please, Jaskier, say something.”

The arched sighed once again. What does he say to this? This Witcher who'd put him down for so long was now trying to build him up because he couldn’t stand the silence any more? Did he want Jaskier following him around again but as his personal music box? What-

“Fuck!” Jaskier hissed as the dagger dragged across his hand, cutting into the skin between his thumb and index finger, slicing down his palm. 

“Are you-” 

“I’m fine.” Jaskier tossed the dagger on the table before bounding out the door.

* * *

When Jaskier came back, his palm was wrapped up in a blue fabric Geralt knew he’d seen before. The two rabbits were skinned and cut. 

“Let’s just...just get this fought out, him?” Jaskier crossed his arms over his chest and looked at the Witcher. “You don’t want me to leave?” 

“Not if you don’t want to.” Geralt shook his head and Jaskier slowly nodded.

“M’kay.” Jaskier took a slow, deep breath. “What changed your mind?” The archer’s eyes hardened. “I’m not taking your sudden distaste for silence as an answer.” 

Geralt had thought about this. A lot. But saying it aloud made it so much more real. It wasn’t some inkling. He learned once already that you can’t take back what you say.

“I miss you. Your mindless humming, playing your lute until you fall asleep with it in your lap. Hearing you talk to Roach about your songs. Your ramblings. I...I miss my best friend. I hadn’t thought about it until after I yelled at you.” 

Jaskier bowed his head and wouldn’t look at Geralt for a few moments. These couple of seconds, in which Jaskier’s mind was reeling, felt like hours to Geralt. Rarely ever did Geralt express his feelings and thoughts. 

“Okay.” Jaskier finally looked up, his blue eyes meeting Geralt’s golden ones. “I’ll travel with you again. I think we both need it.” He ran his unbandaged hand through his hair. “Are we leaving once you can stand properly?” 

“We can leave whenever you’re ready. You get a say in things, too.”

* * *

Geralt and Jaskier walked side by side, Geralt leading Roach by her reins. There was little conversation between them. If a conversation did bubble up, it was painfully short-lived. 

The Witcher figured he had two options: he could keep being a stubborn ass, or he could swallow his gods damned pride and fully sort this out.

“I was proven wrong,” Geralt tried.

Jaskier’s brow furrowed and he glanced at Geralt from the corner of his eye but he didn’t say anything. 

“Remember I told you fairies don’t exist?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I was wrong. Four or five months ago, I came across a spring in the forest and there were three of them skitting about on the surface. The largest of them was smaller than my hand.” 

If not for Geralt’s heightened hearing, he wouldn’t have Jaskier’s  _ giggle _ . He got Jaskier to  _ giggle _ ! That was an improvement! Geralt didn’t try to stop the small smile that stretched across his lips.

* * *

“Are you tired?” Jaskier looked to Geralt. 

“Hmm? No. Are you?” 

The archer shook his head. “I’m sure a sleeping curse takes a toll on one’s body.” 

“I’m alright.” Geralt dismissed.

“What was it like?” Jaskier couldn’t stop himself from asking. 

Geralt would normally ignore the question. He couldn’t. Not any more. Not if he was going to prove to Jaskier that he had in fact missed his best friend. Best friends had two-sided conversations, right? 

“The sleeping curse?” 

“Yeah.” 

Geralt thought for a few seconds. “Sometimes it was like I was sleeping. Other times...my mind was awake but I couldn’t move. I couldn’t open my eyes.” 

“You never felt hungry, did you? Or-or thirsty?” 

“No.” 

Jaskier nodded, seemingly relieved. And he was. He couldn’t imagine--didn’t want to imagine-- Geralt having hunger pangs and not being able to even roll over to decrease the discomfort. 

Roach knickered and swung her head, bumping into Jaskier’s shoulder. The archer chuckled and stroked the horse’s neck. “Yes, hello. I missed you too, Roach.” 

She replied with a whiny followed by a snort.

* * *

Jaskier felt awkward as Geralt did, right? He had to. Because holy fuck. The hard-packed earth under their feet and Roach’s hooves was the only sound. Was there a wall between them or had Jaskier simply closed the curtains?

Though the silence was still heavy, it gave Geralt time to scrutinize his friend. There was so much that changed in the younger man and it was now painfully clear. For example, he was so alert, he was almost tense. His blue eyes kept darting back and forth like he was waiting for something to jump out of the bushes and attack them. Of course, there was nothing there. Geralt’s pendant wasn’t humming, nor could he smell or hear anything aside from the occasional rabbit or chipmunk. 

“You can relax, Jaskier.” 

“What?” 

“There’s nothing here. Relax.” Geralt patted Jaskier’s shoulder. 

“I forget you’re all but psychic,” Jaskier muttered. His shoulder did look less tense, though. “We should reach the next town before sundown.”

Geralt nodded. The Witcher found himself wondering if Jaskier still distrusted him as strongly as he had when he first woke up. Was there a way he could ask? Is it something he can read on him again before too long? He hoped it wouldn’t be too long. 

“I’ll see if there’s a board for a hired sword when we get there.” 

Jaskier simply nodded. Again. Geralt couldn’t get used to this. He wouldn’t. Fuck himself. 

“Tell me of your adventures,” Geralt requested. 

“What about them?” 

“Anything. You always ask me of mine when we reunite.”

Jaskier shook his head. “It’s like I told you. I got down from the mountain, wrote a song, traded my lute for bow and quiver, and went to the woods. 

“I’d replace dead clothes or utensils if I came across a town, and I’d leave. That’s it. I didn’t want to be bothered and I didn’t want to bother them. I told you about the six. Other than that, nothing’s really happened.” 

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. You keep saying that.” Jaskier’s thumb started rubbing the tips of his fore and middle fingers. “I don’t- I know how else to word this, Geralt. I’m not-” 

“I know. I want to make things up to you; to regain your trust. I know it’s going to take time, but I want to. What do I need to do?” 

Jaskier stopped in his tracks and Geralt followed suit. The archer set the Witcher with an incredulous look. “You weren’t one to joke before. I mean- I don’t fucking know what I mean. I didn’t think I was ever going to see you again; I was readying myself and bracing myself for it. Then along comes Yennefer and you’re under a curse. 

“You-you looked  _ dead _ , Geralt! After everything you’ve said and done, seeing you like that still fucking broke me. Then you’re awake and I’m dreading that you’re somehow going to pin me as shovelling this shit too. I’m so fucking confused. I don’t know what way to look.” 

“You never did me wrong, Jaskier.” Geralt’s veins were flooded with burning guilt and he couldn’t bring himself to look Jaskier in the eyes. Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf, couldn’t meet the eyes of a mere human. 

“I know. Took me a while, but I got there. So what’s your great plan? Because I’m feeling too many emotions to be able to think clearly.” 

“Why don’t we stop for the day? I’m feeling a little off,” Geralt confessed. 

“Sure. I’ll find something to hunt for dinner.” 

“Your hand-” 

“I’ll be fine. You need to rest.”

* * *

Jaskier crafted a few more arrows while Geralt prepped the birds Jaskier had taken down. Birds were harder to take down with a sword so Geralt was impressed when Jaskier returned to the camp with two pheasants in hand. Jaskier began sorting through the plucked feathers so he could fletch more arrows. 

“How did you learn to mark arrows?” 

“It’s not hard. I bought three, disassembled them, and put them back together.” He sliced through the twine he tied the head to the shaft with. “Restringing a bow takes more practice and patience, though.” 

Silence lapsed over them, but it was less awkward this time. Is this how Jaskier felt for all those years? Wanting this unresponsive lump to be his friend? Maybe that’s why he played the lute so often so gently. The birds were asleep and the breeze rarely made it through their camp. He hated the stillness.

“Is there anything I did that scared you?” Geralt broke the silence again. 

“How do you mean?” 

“When we slept outside like that. Did I ever worry you?” Geralt was scared of Jaskier’s answer but he needed it. I  _ needed _ to know. 

“There was always a nagging fear that you’d take Roach and leave in the middle of the night as you did at the inns sometimes. At the inns, I’d come to expect it and would be more shocked if you were still there in the morning.” 

Geralt nodded, taking in the information. “The fear was there when I went hunting too, wasn’t it?” 

“Yeah.” 

“You know I won’t leave like that again, don’t you?” Geralt’s eyes held so much hope it shocked Jaskier. But that amount of hope cemented he was being honest and sincere. 

“Yeah, Geralt. I know.” The corners of his mouth turned up the slightest bit. “You know, things aren’t going to be perfect. I don’t want things to go back the way they were because--well--frankly, things then were shit. But we’ve both changed. I’m not the mindless, senseless, prancing bard I was. You’re not the emotionless, thoughtless warrior you were. We can figure something out.” 

It was Geralt’s turn to smirk. “Does this mean I can figure out a way to get you a lute?” 

Jaskier closed his eyes and released something between a sigh a chortle. But he was smiling. 

“Fine.”


	3. How Bold I Was, Will Be, Still Am

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier and Geralt get into some trouble with bandits and Jaskier's count goes up. 
> 
> The song's title comes from the song "The Horror and the Wild" by The Amazing Devil.

This was better. Much better. Every time Geralt  _ started _ a conversation, Jaskier basked in it. Geralt would still chuckle, hum, and grunt for the most part, but he’d let himself laugh from time to time too. 

The “old” Jaskier was finally starting to rear his joyful head. He’d hum more and sing quietly to himself. The archer was no longer a silent walking companion, but he was becoming a friend again. 

Geralt was doing better but was still recovering from the side effects of the sleeping curse. He got tired more easily--around the time Jaskier got drowsy. Sometimes, his hand or finger would twitch as though the appendage was still waking up. He’d have nightmares that woke him up and left panting covered with a fine sheen of sweat. 

If the dream woke Jaskier up, then the archer would calm him down. In the case that Jaskier remained asleep, the Witcher would go and describe the dream to Roach. Then he’d be calmed down enough to go back to sleep or hunt something for breakfast.

* * *

“We should go for a deer,” Jaskier proposed. “We’re going to deplete the forest of rabbits at this rate. We wouldn’t have to hunt again until maybe lunch tomorrow if we came across a small one.” 

“Alright,” Geralt nodded. He shouldered his swords as Jaskier swung his bow his shoulder. “A little one. We don’t have the means of making jerky.”

And the two slunk off, trying to find the tracks of a deer. Doe or buck, but preferably a buck. 

Geralt was shocked When Jaskier whistled a bird’s call to get his attention and nodded his head to the left while jerking his thumb over his shoulder. It took Geralt longer than he would have liked to admit to understand what Jaskier was trying to say. There were tracks leading to his left and someone behind him. Geralt nodded and slowly drew his steel sword, causing the least amount of sound possible. 

Jaskier started veering to his left, trying both to lose the man following him while trying to track the deer. His bow was knocked and pointed towards the forest floor so he could run easier. 

Getting tired of the man following him, Jaskier tucked himself between two trees and waited for the man to appear. As he came around the bend, a hand wrapped around his mouth. That wasn’t Geralt’s hand. He tossed his elbow back and it connected with the man’s nose. The man stumbled back, grasping his profusely bleeding nose. Jaskier spun on his heel and released his arrow through his temple. 

Seven.

The man who’d been following him tackled him and pinned him--chest down--to the ground. His bow forgotten on the ground, he waited until the rope was secured around his wrist and flipped over, pulling nearly as hard as he could against the rope, wrapping it around the man’s throat, trapping the bandit between his shoulder and the rope. 

Eight.

As he stood up, a third man wrapped his arm around Jaskier’s throat, the tip of a dagger pressed against his temple. 

“You’re a slippery fucker, aren’t you?” The man chuckled. He dropped his dagger and took a strong grip on the rope still dangling from Jaskier’s wrist.

The archer tried pulling away to no avail. He tried swinging with his left arm but the bandit let go of his throat and caught his wrist, wrenching it behind his back. He winced at how tightly the rope was cinched. 

“I don’t have anything valuable on me.” Jaskier continued to struggle, even as the bandit took a strong grip on the collar of his shirt.

“I don’t want your shit, Archer.”

“Then what do you want?” Jaskier lurched forward and the bandit let go of his collar, letting him tumble to the ground. Jaskier landed on his side and tried to scuttle away but the action was stopped by the bandit kicking him in the ribs.

The bandit picked Jaskier up with ease while he tried to catch his breath. “Cooperate, Archer, or that’s going to be nothing compared to the pain to come. 

“Jaskier?” Geralt called out. 

Jaskier didn’t reply.

“Go on. Call to your Witcher,” the bandit hissed in Jaskier’s ear. 

The archer shook his head. 

“I told you to cooperate, boy.” The dagger that had been held to Jaskier’s temple was then plunged into his upper arm. He managed to keep his scream of pain to a groan until the blade was twisted. Then he screamed.

* * *

Geralt froze at the sound of Jaskier’s scream and the familiar, heavy scent of blood flooded his nose. Following the scent, he stalked through the forest with his sword still drawn. 

The closer he got, the more he could make out two pairs of steps and panted breathing.

“It’s a trap! Don’t follow-” Jaskier suddenly cut odd and screamed again. 

Geralt felt his blood boil at the sound and the increased smell of blood. How the hell were they found? They were miles away from any village and two miles from the road. Who found them? Something told Geralt this man wasn’t a common bandit. He was too careful. Jaskier’s screams were too well spaced. Why was he after him? Were there more of them? 

The steps veered off to the right and Geralt followed a ways behind in the brush. He didn’t know how many more men there were or if he was to need a potion. 

“You’re a damn fool, Archer. He’s gonna come after you. You know that full well.” 

“He’s not stupid.” Jaskier grit out through clenched teeth. 

“If he doesn’t come tonight, it doesn’t matter. We can catch the bastard after you’re dealt with.”

Neither Jaskier nor Geralt liked the sounds of that.

A laugh came from a nearby clearing and Jaskier began to struggle again. The chatter for louder and before too long, the man tossed Jaskier to the ground and the chatter stopped as the bandits looked down at him. 

“What the hell is this?” The seeming leader demanded. “That ain’t the Witcher, Tanwyn.”

“No… It’s his archer.”

“We don’t need his archer, you idiot.” 

“We can use him to our advantage. The Witcher’s still in the area-”  
“He went back to the horse,” Jaskier lied. He had no idea where Geralt was and hoped he’d come soon. 

The leader kicked Jaskier to the ground and pinned him there by the throat. The archer kicked his leg uselessly as his breathing was cut off. “You aren’t to speak unless  _ I _ ask you a question. Is that understood?” 

Jaskier nodded as much as he could and the leader pushed himself up on Jaskier’s neck. The archer coughed and rolled over to get more air into his lungs. 

“I wanna skin the little shit. He killed John and Tristan. He doesn’t look like much, but he’s one hell of a shot,” Tanwyn explained. 

The leader leered down at Jaskier and pulled him up by his hair. “You’re who broke the curse, aren’t you?” 

Jaskier didn’t open his mouth. 

The bandit wrenched Jaskier’s head back and hissed in his ear. “Now would be the time to speak, Master Archer.” He pulled Jaskier’s hair tighter when he didn’t answer. 

“Yes.” Jaskier bit out. “Your witch is dead, but not by my hands.”

“What do we do with him, Liam?” Tanwyn asked. 

“I wouldn’t say no to-”

“Keep it in your pants, Thom.” Liam chuckled and pushed Jaskier to Tanwyn. “Tie him to a tree. We’ll lure his Witcher yet.”

* * *

Geralt continued to circle the camp for a few minutes. There were six of them, one of him, and an out of commission Jaskier. This wasn’t going to be easy, but he’d come out on top when the odds were stacked higher against him. 

They hadn’t hurt the archer more but that didn’t mean the dirt in his arm and leg was going to be fun to cleanout. 

“What do you want with us?” Jaskier was trying to twist his wrists around to reach the knots binding his wrists but the movements would strain the wound in his upper arm. 

“The bastard killed my cousin in Blaviken. It took me years to find a witch dumb enough to go against Geralt of Rivia,” Liam explained. “Then some whore with violet eyes comes along and kills the witch; bringing  _ you _ into the mix.” Liam backhanded Jaskier and the bound archer spat out blood from his split lip. 

“I didn’t think anything was going to happen.” Jaskier shrugged. 

“You  _ broke _ the curse. We settled on a sleeping curse because we thought he’d be good as dead. Who the fuck could love a Witcher?” 

Jaskier scoffed but didn’t say anything more. 

“If we get you out of the way, then there’s nobody else to break the damned curse.”

“If a witch couldn’t best the White Wolf for more than two weeks, what makes you think you can kill him?” Jaskier cocked his head to the side. “If you think you can kill him, you’ve never seen him-”

Liam kneed Jaskier in the gut and the air rushed out of the archer’s lungs. The bandit leader turned to Tanwyn. “You said he killed John and Tristan. How?”

“He shot Tristan in the head with his bow and strangled John with the rope around his wrists.” 

Liam drew a knife from his belt and stepped closer to Jaskier. Having regained his breath, Jaskier tried backing up, though of course, the tree stopped him. 

Geralt couldn’t attack when it got dark. Jaskier didn’t have that kind of time. He reached into his pocket and drew out a black potion. Uncapping it with his teeth, Geralt ignored the ungodly taste as he downed it. 

Jaskier bit back a groan as Liam drove the knife into his side. The archer fully stopped moving to avoid the knife doing more damage. Liam withdrew the knife and turned to his men. “Which hand do you boys think is his dominant? Can’t fire a bow without a middle finger.” 

Now Jaskier began to truly panic. The knife wounds in his arm, leg, and side would heal. But losing either middle finger would be unbearable--not just because of the pain. 

Losing the left meant he’d really never play the lute again. Losing the right meant he’d never fire a bow again. What the fuck was he supposed to--

Tanwyn and Liam jumped at the scream of a man Jaskier hadn’t caught the name of. While Liam was distracted, Jaskier kicked in the back of his knee, bringing the man to the ground with a crunch and a yell. 

“What devil is-” the second man’s head rolling from his shoulders stopped him from finishing the question. 

Geralt- with the help of the potion, sliced through the four other men like apples. Easy on the sides with a slight crunch in the middle. When Liam was all who remained, Geralt strode to the man who was still on the ground from when Jaskier devoid him of his ability to walk. Now, he stared at Geralt--black eyes and splattered with the blood of his friends--pissing himself out of fear. 

“I’m sorry. Please, I beseech you-” the bandit leader stopped when Geralt crouched down, taking a hold on the fool’s collar. 

“Any other members of your family who’d try to find us?” Geralt seethed. 

Liam frantically shook his head and Geralt slit the man’s throat with his own  knife. Standing, Geralt looked to Jaskier and panicked when he saw the archer’s head drooped, his bound hands keeping him upright and his chin resting on his chest. 

“Jaskier?” Geralt sheathed his sword and rushed to the man and tilted his chin up, patting his cheek. He quickly untied Jaskier’s hands, holding him so he wouldn’t fall. 

Geralt could make out a heartbeat, though it was fast. He repositioned Jaskier so he could pick him up. Jaskier gasped in pain, his eyes snapping open when his side and leg wounds were jarred by Geralt scooping him up into his arms. 

“Sorry-”

“My bow,” Jaskier wheezed. 

Geralt looked around the camp quickly. “I don’t see it. We’ll find you another one.” Geralt turned in the direction of their camp, talking mostly to keep Jaskier from going under again. “You’re too light, Jaskier. No wonder you’re so fast.” 

Jaskier hummed but didn’t try to reply. 

“Jaskier, don’t fall asleep.” Geralt jerked the arm supporting the man’s head as to bounce his head without harming him more. 

“You Witchered.” Jaskier’s trembling hand traced one of the blackened veins by Geralt’s nose. 

“I did,” Geralt confirmed. “You don’t fear me?” 

Jaskier tried to laugh but his face instantly scrunched up in pain. “You’re Geralt.” 

Going back to camp, Geralt kept asking Jaskier a multitude of questions to keep the archer from passing out. 

“When we met in-”

“I’m dizzy.”

“You’ve lost a good amount of blood. You’re okay. Don’t worry.” 

Jaskier clenched his eyes shut to stop the world around him from spinning. After a few moments, his face relaxed and he went limp in Geralt’s arms.


	4. Or Lips to Ease His Roar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier is recovering from his wounds and Geralt takes some time to figure out what the occasional fluttering in his chest might be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title comes from "The Song of the White Wolf" from The Witcher Soundtrack.
> 
> Also, a quick heads-up: I'll do what I can to post late next week like I've been doing, but I've been going through some shit the last couple of days so I make no promises.

Once Jaskier’s wounds were clean and bandaged, he decided Jaskier would be safe enough now with Roach for him to go back and find out what exactly happened when he lost sight of Jaskier. Before he backtracked, however, Geralt left his silver sword within arms reach of Jaskier. 

The Witcher set off with one of Roach’s saddlebags should he come across anything helpful at the camp. He wasn’t particularly looking forward to going back to the bandits’ camp, but he had to know what happened to his archer. His friend. 

Moving at a normal pace rather than a stalking prowell was much faster. It didn’t take him 15 minutes to find where he and Jaskier got separated. He was shocked to find, though, the bodies of the men Jaskier killed. John and Tristan he heard them called. One had an arrow in his head while the other had rope marks around his throat and a light blue tainted face. 

The tracks were even easier to follow from there. It’s as if Jaskier was trying to leave Geralt a trail. The footprints were wilder, some of the branched foliage on the side of the faint path was bent, or a rock’s moss had purposely been disturbed. The Witcher didn’t know where Jaskier had learned these tricks, but he was almost angry with himself that the archer needed them--that the happy-go-lucky man was now almost as good at tracking as he was. 

His blood was still on that tree. Scratch that almost.

* * *

Jaskier’s eyes fluttered open when the brightness of the sun wouldn’t relent. The fire had died down in the night, he couldn’t hear Gerlt, but Roach was nearby. Turning his head to the side, he caught the sun glinting off the blade of one of Geralt’s swords. 

He had no idea where the Witcher was but he wasn’t worried about if he was going to come back. Even if he’d ridden Roach, he felt fairly certain the white-haired man would return. After all, why would Geralt have rescued him just to ditch him again? No. Geralt had changed. Right? 

Jaskier pushed the thought from his mind and took to cloud watching to distract his mind from the pain in his arm, leg, and side. He couldn’t always make out clouds between the leaves above his head, but it was calming enough.

The archer turned next to Roach. The creature was roaming freely, untethered but never straying more than a couple of yards away. As if Roach could feel eyes on her, she turned to Jaskier and snorted before sauntering over and plopping down next to the resting archer. 

He was able to pet the horse and huffed out a pained chuckle when Roach nuzzled his forehead with her nose. “Yes. Hello, Roach.” Jaskier smiled. “You’re always such a gentle horse. A big girl, but a softie.” 

Roach nudged him again.

“I know, girl. I’d sit up and give you real pats but I think I’d pass out again if I did and Geralt wouldn’t be too happy with me, I don’t think.” 

The two laid in silence, Jaskier lazily stroking the side of the horse as he watched the clouds and let his mind wander.

He was happy with how things turned out in the long run. Geralt was back and they were going better than ever before. He was starting to miss his lute more and more but it’s not like he could do anything about it. He didn’t have money for a playable lute and he sure as hell wasn’t going to ask Geralt. Not right after he used supplies to patch up wounds he could have avoided getting. 

_ You both know travelling with a Witcher is a dangerous thing for a human to do _ a voice in his head reminded him. 

But it’s not as though Geralt owed him anything. Nothing. The Witcher said sorry more times in the last fortnight or so than he’d probably ever said in his life. He patched Jaskier up, hunted with him. They were almost equals now rather than Geralt being a begrudged babysitter. 

He could ask to borrow the money. Pay him back with-

“What’s got your mind spinning?” Geralt’s sudden question made Jaskier startle. 

“Holy fuck.” Jaskier curled up slightly, pressing a hand to his wounded side. “Shit.” 

“Sorry.” 

“Not your fault I wasn’t paying attention. Fuck.” 

Roach nudged Jaskier’s head.

“Thanks, Roach.” The archer patted the horse’s side again. “Where’d you go off so early?” Jaskier braced himself to try and sit up. Geralt was by his side in a second with a helping hand. 

“I went back to their camp to see what I could find. I couldn’t find your bow but I found your quiver.” 

Jaskier’s brow furrowed. “I hadn’t even realized they took it.” 

“You were in shock.” Geralt dismissed. “Found a decent amount of coin. Some food. A whetstone.”

Jaskier nodded.

“What were you thinking about when I came?” 

Jaskier considered lying--for half a second--but pushed the idea from his mind. Geralt had been nothing but honest since he woke up from the curse. He wasn’t going to betray Geralt by returning his honesty with lies. 

“I want a lute. I miss playing.” 

There was a flutter of something in Geralt’s chest and it caught him off guard. He pushed the confusion away to be dealt with later. 

“We’ll find you one. And a bow. The next town we reach… We’ll go to the trader and see what they have.” 

“I can pay you ba-”

“No.”

“Geralt.” Jaskier sort of glared at him but the Witcher expectedly didn’t falter. 

“No. You wouldn’t have gotten rid of it if it weren’t for me in the first place. Consider it a thank you. Besides, the bow will pay for itself--both will.” 

“A thank you? For what?” 

“Giving me a second chance when I didn’t deserve one.”

* * *

“I can walk, Geralt.” 

“I don’t want you pulling your stitches. Get on Roach.” 

“No.” Jaskier began walking towards the path, fully ignoring his limp. 

Jaskier yelped as Geralt picked him up--mindful of his friend’s wounds--and placed him on Roach. The archer slowly, keeping eye contact with Geralt, started sliding off the other side of Roach’s saddle. 

“Dismount and I tie you to the saddle.” Geralt's tone was serious but that didn’t mean Jaskier missed the minute upturn of the sides of Geralt’s mouth. 

Jaskier exaggerated a sigh and corrected how he was sitting. His leg and side did hurt a bit. “So where are we going?” 

Geralt started leading Roach by her reins. Jaskier knew how to ride and Roach would listen to his steering. He also knew Roach would follow him if he wasn’t leading her by the reins. It was more reassurance for himself than anything. The two beings he cared about most in this world were by his side and it's all he needed at that moment.

“Next nearest town. You need a real bed, maybe a real healer. I need ingredients and hopefully, someone has a use for a Witcher.” 

“I have use for a Witcher.” Jaskier raised his uninjured arm.

Geralt teasingly glared at the archer. “I wouldn’t say no to a bath.” 

Jaskier faked a gasp. “You’re willing to bathe without my nagging you? You really have changed.” He then looked down at the top of Roach’s head. “What about you, Roach? Have you changed?” 

Roach knickered and swayed her head into Geralt’s chest.

“I guess not.” Jaskier shrugged. “That’s just as well, I suppose. You’ve always been flawless.” He rubbed the horse between the ears. 

Silence lapsed once more and it was a chance for their minds to wander. Geralt’s mind didn’t stray far from the man riding his horse. Jaskier’s mind, on the other hand, was doing acrobatics and somersaults around the small space inside his skull. 

When thinking about the other day, Jaskier couldn’t find it within himself to be angry at the men who had harmed him. He just couldn’t be. Yes, they hurt him, but it’s not as though he hadn’t hurt them. He killed two of their friends. Two of their brothers. Sure it was them or him, but why did it always have to be them?

In his past, he’d bedded enough sisters, mothers, and wives (a brother or nephew here and there) along the way to deserve a final-

“Get out of your head, Jaskier.” Geralt was looking up at his friend. 

“Pardon?”

“The mind can be a dangerous place to walk alone.” Geralt explained. “It wasn’t your fault… Those men.” 

“They didn’t need to die. I ended up at their camp nonetheless.” 

“So they would have died anyway. What difference does it make if it was you or me that freed their souls from their bodies? I can promise you the two you killed felt far less pain than the ones I ended the lives of.”

“I felt the man’s neck snap when I pulled and back on the rope, Geralt!” 

“And didn’t even feel it break. The man’s whose head now holds an arrow? He felt no pain either. You gave them quick deaths to protect yourself.” 

“You killed to save-”

Geralt stopped walking and turned to fully face Jaskier. “I’ve killed more men for less. If the choice was between you and some fools that were likely to wrong more people, I’d make the same choice as I did the other night.”

* * *

When Jaskier began nodding off, Geralt mounted Roach behind Jaskier so the archer wouldn’t fall the horse. Geralt was keenly aware of Jaskier’s breathing and heartbeat. No, the younger man hadn’t said anything about pain, but he’d still lost a fair amount of blood. Every so often, Jaskier would hum in his sleep or shift slightly (likely to accommodate the discomfort in his leg. 

Now that the archer was dozing, Geralt allowed his mind to stray from Jaskier and roach. The flutter in his when Jaskier told him he missed playing the lute. He didn’t think he’d ever felt it before. What caused it?

It couldn’t have been a health issue. He wasn’t  _ that _ old by Witchers’ standards. Even if he was, his heartbeat was too slow for any health condition of the heart a human might suffer from. So it wasn’t physical. Then what the fuck was it? 

_ Witchers aren’t supposed to feel. _ Whispered the back of his mind. 

An emotion, then. Okay… He’d been feeling happier lately, but he already knew joy. Sadness? No. He was far too familiar with that one. Same with anger, shame, annoyance, and it wasn’t any of those. 

“So what the fuck?

Jaskier grumbled something in his sleep and rubbed at his eyes but didn’t bother sitting up yet, apparently pleased with his odd position. He was more or less curled up against Geralt’s chest. 

“Your thinking woke me up.” Jaskier covered his mouth and yawned. 

Geralt scoffed and Jaskier finally sat up, taking the gentle body heat with him. 

“What’s your Witcher brain trying to piece together?”

Geralt sighed but relented. Whose better to help you understand emotion than someone who made a living off of poetry for most of their adult life?

“Have you ever gotten a...fluttering feeling in your chest?” Geralt demonstrated what he meant by gently and quickly drumming his fingers along Jaskier’s forearm. “In your chest.”

Jaskier nodded. “You’re not dying. Don’t worry.” 

“What is it?” Geralt’s brow was furrowed in confusion. 

“Uh… Oh! I’m not telling you. You need to figure it out. It’s not too hard to piece together. “

* * *

Jaskier and Geralt rented a room at the inn but Geralt sent Jaskier to bathe while he went about the town on his errands. He got the herb he needed and got directions from the apothecary to the trader. It was just a few buildings down, but it was a slow walk because he was still thinking about the fluttering in his chest. 

Geralt looked around the small, wooden shop. The back wall was lined with bows, swords, and axes. The shelves were filled with books, helmets, and piles of armour. A stout, grey-haired man came from the backroom and whistled when he set eyes on Geralt. 

“You’re an interesting fellow. I’ve heard of you from a song. Months ago back… Toss a coin to your…”

“Witcher,” Geralt filled in. “A friend wrote it.” 

“Well, what can I do for you, Master Witcher?” The man grinned. 

“My friend needs a bow and a lute.” 

“Is it the friend who wrote your song?” The excited hope made his speech fast. 

“Yes… The lute he used to play broke months ago and he hasn’t had the means of getting another one.” Geralt figured his lie was close enough to the truth. He did, though, feel the panic rise in his chest when the man retreated into the back room. “I’ll pay whatever you--”

The man came  _ running _ back. “I’ll not be taking payment for the lute.” The man delicately laid a lute on the counter and took a ring of strings from a cupboard behind him. “This here is the best of the two lutes I have. The spares are free as well.” 

“How much for a bow?” Geralt withdrew his coin pouch.

“10. Take your pick.” The man motioned to the wall. 

Geralt was careful to take the bow that looked most like the bow Jaskier had before. The only major difference was that it lacked the intricate vine and leaf design Jaskier had meticulously carved into the wood himself. He then laid 20 coins on the counter, took the goods, and left before the man could say anything. 

The Witcher made his way back to Jaskier. He was beginning to notice the tell-tale signs of suspension and he wanted to avoid the drama. Jaskier needed real sleep and he shouldn’t be missing it because of him. The archer needed somewhere safe and warm to finish recovering. 

By the time Geralt got back to the room, Jaskier couldn’t have been asleep for more than maybe five minutes. The freshwater in the tub was still steaming and his hair was still wet enough to dampen the linens on the bed. 

“The archer’s face was so peaceful--free of the pain and worry almost always in his eyes. His mouth was slightly agape, his chest rising and falling with each deep breath. 

The fluttering happened again in Geralt’s chest. “Fuck.”


	5. Look Both Ways Before Crossing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier and Geralt track down someone who's been stealing crops from some locals and run into someone unexpected in the woods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My school's just been closed for the next three weeks. Shit's still flying into the ceiling fan but I'm probably going to be writing more so I'm not thinking about it. Ignore the note from the last chapter.

Geralt let Jaskier sleep. The Witcher often forgot how much sleep humans needed to recover from injury or illness. Besides, letting Jaskier sleep allowed Geralt more time to battle with his newly found feelings. Though, something in him told him “newly found” wasn’t the right phrase. 

Newly named, then.

The Witcher’s mind continued to race. Why was he attracted to a human? He was a Witcher and Jaskier was so fragile. Geralt was the one to tell him why the kiss woke him up. He could stop himself. How stupid could he be? Honestly. 

Shaking his head, Geralt decided he needed to do something else with his racing mind. He wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep. He wanted to stay nearby, should the archer need something. Geralt did the only thing he could think of. He picked up the lute--delicately--and laid it in his lap, his left hand holding the neck like he’s seen Jaskier do a thousand and one times before they parted ways. 

Reluctantly, the Witcher plucked one of the strings before lowering a finger over a fret and hearing how the note changes. Geralt had gotten the gist of how to make music with a lute, but he was lost besides this. How do you move your fingers fast enough to get a song out? Let alone Jaskier’s faster songs like  _ Fishmonger’s Daughter _ or  _ Old Nan the Hag _ . 

As horrid as it probably sounded, maybe it’s a good thing the two got split to rejoin the way they did. Geralt was learning things about Jaskier he never would have considered without the kick in the ass he got. He hoped Jaskier felt the same way. 

One of the things Geralt was learning was respect. Jaskier was a talented archer and a talented bard. Being a bard took practice and being an archer took a sharp eye and steady hands. Jaskier having steady enough hands to put an arrow through a man’s temple meant Jaskier wasn’t the coward Geralt had thought he was for years. Not at heart, anyway. 

Geralt placed the lute back down before he snapped a strong and took to meditating.

* * *

Jaskier startled awake the second Geralt’s hand touched his shoulder, his eyes wide. 

“Just me,” Geralt assured. “We should get some dinner before they stop serving it.” He held his hand out to help Jaskier sit up. The archer took it and yawned, rubbing the sleep from his blue eyes. 

“How long was I out?” Jaskier stood from the bed. 

“Most of the afternoo-”

“You found one,” Jaskier breathed. 

“You can freshen your mind after you eat something. Come on.” Geralt jerked his head to the door. 

“Very well.” Jaskier relented and followed Geralt out of their room. 

The pair walked to the main room of the inn, got a bowl of stew each, and went to a table in the back by the door. Jaskier blew on the steaming spoonful before eating it. Geralt, on the other hand, seemed perfectly content to swallow the stew without so much as a grimace. 

“Where did you find the lute and bow?” Jaskier looked up from his stew. 

“The trader from down the way. The owner knew me from your song and insisted the lute be free.”

Jaskier smiled. “And you paid for it anyway because you’re you.” 

“I paid double for the bow.” 

Jaskier chuckled, shaking his head. “You never cease to amaze me, Witcher.” 

A woman passing by their table froze and spun on her heel, turning to the two. Geralt didn’t acknowledge her presence but Jaskier did. “Yes?”

“You say he’s a Witcher?” The woman’s voice was hopeful.

“I am.” Now Geralt glanced at the middle-aged woman. 

“My husband’s got a job for you, he has. A phantom’s been sneaking into our yard and stealing our crops. We ain’t never-”

“Ghosts aren’t real. You’re dealing with a thief; not a monster. Talk to a guard.” He turned his attention back on his stew. 

“It’s no human, Mr. Witcher. Please.” 

“Geralt, maybe we should look into it. These things are never as black and white as they seem.” Jaskier suggested. 

“It doesn’t have the feet of a human. The footprints are that of a goat. I called it a phantom ‘cause our neighbour thinks it’s a demon.” 

Geralt heaved a sigh as he dropped his spoon into his stew and looked at the woman. “How many footprints are there?” 

“Two. Like it walks upright the same as you an’ me.”

“We’ll make sure.”

“Thank you, thank you! I'll come back first thing in the morning to show the way.” The woman rushed off. 

“I think it’s a faun.” Geralt picked up his spoon. 

Jaskier shook his head. “A satyr. Fauns live in forests and are said to care for weary travellers. Satyrs live in open areas and are drunken tricksters.” He sipped from his mead. “Her neighbour might have thought it was a demon because Satyrs have horns.” He looked up when Geralt didn’t reply but he could feel eyes on him. “What?” 

Geralt was at a loss of words for a few seconds. “I didn’t know you could-”

“Identify monsters? We learned more than how to write poetry at the bard’s college, Geralt.” Jaskier smirked. “I wasn’t completely lost every time we came across something in the woods. Just awestruck. I was taught these creatures were merely bedtime stories to keep young children in line. Then I started travelling with you and most of the creatures are real.” 

Something akin to guilt bit at Geralt’s gut. He’d always assumed Jaskier eyes were wide with fear. It never even crossed his mind that he was trying to see the creatures he was singing about. 

Jaskier nudged Geralt’s shin with his foot under the table. “You’re doing it again.” 

“How do you do that?” Geralt huffed. 

“You’re an open book. You can read everyone else and assume no-one can read you. What was it you said? The mind can be dangerous to wander alone?”

* * *

Morning rolled around and Geralt’s hand touched the cold mattress beside him. He pushed hair out of his eyes as he leaned up on his elbows. The Witcher didn’t know he had tensed until his muscles relaxed when he heard the soft plucking of lute strings. He didn’t know the song and the plucking was slow, a little clumsy even, but he’d know the playing from anywhere. 

Geralt finally rolled over and looked to Jaskier who was perched on the window sill. His blue eyes were squinted slightly as he studied the neck of the ute, his back arched so could see over his fingers. The sun rising in the window made the crown of Jaskier’s hair glow like the orange of fire.

The Witcher’s heart fluttered. 

A chord Geralt couldn’t name came from the lute and Jaskier released a breathy, triumphant giggle. He then plucked the strings of the same chord, slowly, and Geralt realized he was relearning a scale of some sort.

Finally, Geralt sat up, and Jaskier gazed across the room at him with a small, nearly apologetic, smile. “I was trying not to wake you.” 

“You didn’t,” Geralt dismissed. He tossed back the covers and got out of bed. “How are you feeling?” 

“Not bad.”

Geralt arched an eyebrow. 

“My leg aches a bit.” Jaskier didn’t make eye contact. “I was sleeping wrong and the pain woke me up.” 

“Your side and arm don’t hurt?” 

Jaskier shook his head. 

Geralt nodded, content--though not pleased--with the answer. “If your leg bled through the bandage again, I’m going to have to stitch it.” 

“Again?” Jaskier frowned. 

“You’re a heavy sleeper when you’re tired. Someone could have blown a war horn after dinner and you would have slept through it. I checked your wounds before going to bed last night. Your side and arm were fine, but your leg bled through the linnen.” 

Jaskier leaned the lute against the wall. “Geralt, the woman-”

“Can wait a few more minutes.” Geralt walked to Jaskier and knelt before him. He laid his hands on the man’s shoulders. “Jaskier, I told you: you did nothing wrong.” 

Jaskier said nothing but rolled up his pant leg nonetheless. He didn’t want to look at the wound because he could tell already it had bled through. Once his pant leg was rolled up, Geralt took over. His scarred hands were swift and smooth with their actions. The man hardly felt any extra pain as Geralt untied the knot securing the bandage. 

“You’ve stitched me up enough times to know this is less than pleasant, but I’ll be quick.”

* * *

“You’re staying here, Jaskier.” Geralt was checking he had everything he might need. Both swords, one of his black potions, cloth to stop bleeding should he need it.

“Like hell I am.” The man adjusted the strap of his quiver. “I’m going with you. You’ve seen what I can do.” He limped after Geralt and the Witcher spun on his heel. What he wasn’t expecting was Jaskier meeting his glare dead on without faltering. 

“Against  _ humans _ .” 

“Satyrs are half-human. Seems like a good stepping stone to me.”

“There’s more to it than that, Jaslier.” 

The man changed how he was standing to get weight off his injured leg. Geralt had applied some solve that numbed the wound before applying the bandage. It was starting to wear off, but he wasn’t going to say anything about it. 

“Such as?” 

Geralt growled and Jaskier raised an eyebrow. 

“You stay behind me. We’re bringing Roach. If I tell you to leave, you get on Roach, and you leave.” Geralt’s eyes hardened further. “You haven’t always listened to me on this. You’re already wounded.” So he had noticed the change in posture. 

Jaskier held his hands up in surrender. “Alright, alright. Stay back, you say go and I leave with Roach.” 

Knowing this was the best he was going to get, Geralt checked Roach’s saddle and the three caught up with the woman from the day before at the edge of the village. 

The woman, bless her soul, tried to engage in small talk. How old are you; are you married; where are you from? That sort of thing. What did you do before monster hunting?

“You don’t look like a monster hunter, Mr. Archer.” The woman looked up at Jaskier. 

“I’m new to monster hunting, yes. I’ve seen Geralt kill plenty of monsters. I’m decent at hunting animals, though.” 

“What did you do before this?” 

“I was a bard for a few years.” He shrugged. 

“Why’d you stop? Your speaking voice is pleasant; I’d love to hear you sing.”

Jaskier let out an airy chuckle. “It’s been a while and I’m out of practice. I wasn’t the best bard, to begin with. It was an easy living so it suited me for that time.” 

“You never said why you stopped.” 

Jaskier stiffened and glanced at Geralt from the corner of his eye. “Change of heart.” He stayed silent until the woman left them at the edge of the woods. 

The Satyr was easy enough to track and it was, in fact, a Satyr. 

“You need to leave,” Geralt warned the creature. 

The half-goat sighed, scratching his chin. “I should have known someone would call the dog hunter sooner than later.” 

Jaskier cocked his head and scrutinized the hairy, horned creature. “Do you know, sir, of Posada? Where it is, I mean?” 

“Yes?”

“Go there. In Lower Posada--Dol Blathanna--is a Sylvan named Torque.” Jaskier chuckled. “Tell him the Snowman and his bard send their regards. He’ll welcome you.” 

Geralt choked down a laugh at the mention of ‘snowman’. “He’ll know who we are.” 

The Satyr went on his way, seemingly excited about reuniting with someone similar to him. With him safely going and leaving the village alone, Geralt and Jaskier set back to find Roach. Suddenly, Geralt froze in his tracks, eyes closed and ears straining. 

“Geralt?” Jaskier whispered, knocking an arrow. 

“Someone’s in-”

A scream rang out and they glanced at each other before breaking into a sprint. Jaskier tunnel-visioned all his attention on finding the girl who screamed so the pain in his leg was less noticeable. 

As they got closer, the growl of a bear could be heard. Mid run, Jaskier bent down, picked up a rock, and threw it at the bear. Standing up, he drew an arrow back, took a second to aim, and released it. It pierced the bear’s left eye and the creature dropped to the ground. 

Geralt, once again, came to a sudden halt and stared at the wide-eyed blonde. Jaskier stopped and took a breath. He took a step back. Her green eyes were identical to her mother’s. 

_ The Child Surprised the djinn, all of it! _

The girl looked scared, though she knew Jaskier’s face from the times he played at her grandmother’s court. The white-haired and orange eyes could only be one person. She stood from where she had been cowering from the bear. 

Jaskier jumped when his own heel snapped a twig as he kept silently backing up. Geralt turned his head and looked at the man, his eyes terrified. 

“Jaskier.” Geralt held his hand out to the man, palm up. 

Jaskier, still taking small steps backwards, looked between Ciri and Geralt. “I-I’ll...I’ve got…” He turned on a dime and sprinted to his left. 

“Fuck.” Geralt looked over his shoulder to Ciri. “Help me catch him.”


	6. You Think You're Safe Without a Care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt and Jaskier strike a deal. Ciri's a little sister. Geralt uses too much when cooking.

Ciri bolted between the trees, ducking under branches, trying to catch up with Jaskier. Geralt was a few feet ahead of her, his long legs allowing him greater strides. It had shocked Ciri that Jaskier was somehow faster than Geralt. 

Geralt shot off to the right to Jaskier off. Ciri winced at the thud that sounded when the two hit the ground, Geralt tackling Jaskier. They rumbled for a few moments, Geralt pinning Jaskier by his wrists. 

“I’m not letting you go again. We talked about this.” 

“Let me up, Geralt.” 

“Promise you won’t leave again.” Geralt’s voice cracked. 

Jaskier struggled. He didn’t know if that was a promise he could keep. They--Geralt and Jaskier--were doing well. They were closer now than they’d ever been. What would happen now Ciri was thrown into the mix? How would things go for Ciri if he stayed? The future of Cintra rested on this girl’s shoulders. He wouldn’t be a hindrance to the one person strong enough to protect her. 

“It’s safer for her if I go.”

Geralt sat up, pulling Jaskier with him. He didn’t let go of Jaskier’s wrists. “Horse shit. You just saved her from a fucking bear. You’re one of the best archers I’ve met. You know her better; you know more of girls her age because of your sister. We both need you.” 

Jaskier tried to tug his wrists free but Geralt held him. He looked over Geralt’s shoulder to Ciri who almost caught her breath. “Do you want me to stay?”

“Yes.” She quickly nodded. 

Jaskier, his wrists still in Geralt’s hands, pointed at Geralt with a firm finger. “If I fuck up  _ once _ , I’m gone.” 

Geralt didn’t like the sound of that at all. Fear in his gut told him Jaskier was going to be harsher on himself than Geralt ever was. 

“Take it or I leave now.” Jaskier snapped him back to the present. 

Hesitantly, Geralt let go of Jaskier’s wrists. He was already brainstorming ways to change Jaskier’s mind. 

As soon as Geralt stood, Ciri ran to him and wrapped her arms tightly around him. She let go Geralt and threw herself against Jaskier, hugging him just as tightly. 

“Hello again, Princess.” Jaskier ran his hand through her tangled hair. “You’re safe.”

* * *

The trio didn’t go too far throughout the day. Ciri was clearly exhausted. For the short distance, Ciri slept on Roach, curled into Jaskier’s chest who rode behind her. Geralt, as always, led Roach. 

Anytime Ciri would stir, Jaskier hummed a song and pulled her closer to him. Geralt kept glancing up at the two to make sure both were safe. He knew they were. It was too surreal to really be happening. Nothing ever worked out for him the way he wanted.

“Are you really leaving?” Ciri whispered. 

“I don’t know yet. Don’t worry about that now. Rest.” 

“Why did you try running?” Her giant eyes were searching his face for something. 

“It’s a long story,” Jaskier dismissed. 

“I don’t want you to leave.” Ciri curled smaller against Jaskier. 

The man made the mistake of looking down at Geralt. The Witcher was already looking at him. The molten eyes clearly conveyed he agreed with the young princess. His pleading was unsaid but heard nonetheless. 

“Your leg hurt, Jaskier?” Geralt asked. 

“No.”

“You hurt your leg?” Ciri frowned. 

“The other day. I’m doing alright.” Jaskier adjusted how he was sitting on Roach, hoping Geralt wouldn’t notice. He did.

“Are you tired, Ciri?” Geralt asked. 

“Yes.” Ciri wore a small smirk. She wasn’t lying, but both she and Jaskier needed to stop and rest. And since Geralt asked Ciri, Jaskier couldn’t hold it against himself. “Do you…do you have food?” 

“I’ll make something,” Jaskier assured. He helped Ciri down from Roach when they found a clearing that was safely hidden from the road. He went through the saddlebags and was annoyed to find they didn’t have meat. He took the bow from his back and started for the trees.

Ciri grabbed his hand before he was more a few feet away. “Where are you going?” 

That got Geralt’s attention. He flinched and hissed as the flint from his firestarter kit cut into his finger. 

“Hunting. We don’t have meat.” Jaskier didn’t try to pull away from the teen’s soft-grip but that didn’t mean he was comfortable. 

Geralt stood, grabbing his steel sword. “Rest your leg. Get a fire started.” He pressed the firestarter into Ciri’s hand. 

“I’m not going to run, Geralt.” Jaskier rolled his eyes. 

“I didn’t think you were going to. Now sit. We’ll be lucky if you didn’t split the stitches.” Geralt squeezed Jaskier’s shoulder and awkwardly patted Ciri’s head. “I won’t be half an hour.”

“45 minutes and we’re going to find you.” Jaskier led Ciri to the pile of kindling Geralt had been working with. Geralt nodded and went on his way. 

“How did you get hurt?” Ciri asked. She watched as Jaskier diligently lit the fire. 

“Geralt and I had a run-in with some bandits and I got stabbed. It wasn’t healing well so Geralt stitched the wound this morning.” Jaskier sat back, his legs out in front of him. “You aren’t hiding any wounds yourself, are you?” 

“No.” Ciri shook her head. She looked at her boots. “I have blisters on my foot, but...that’s not a serious wound.” 

Jaskier chuckled. “Yes. Tromping around the woods in the wrong footwear can destroy your feet.” The man sighed. “I’ll talk to Geralt when he gets back. We’ll find you some real boots.” 

Ciri looked at her hands, picking at the dead skin around her nails. “Why did you run?”

Jaskier’s hand started fidgeting. Geralt usually took that as a sign to stop pushing. “You’re a persistent little thing.” Jaskier cleared his throat. “I made some mistakes in the past and I don’t want to make more of that nature.” 

“What mistakes?”

“Too many, young one.” 

Ciri was smart enough to know she wasn’t getting anything more out of the man. “Do you still perform?”

“Not well anymore.”

“Can you play something?” Ciri’s eyes were pleading as always. 

Jaskier nodded, slowly. He pushed himself up slight but Ciri jumped up and went to Roach. The lute was hanging from one of the saddlebags. She brought it to Jaskier and sat across from the man so she could watch his fingers as he played. 

“Remember, I’m not as good as you remember. It’s been a few months.” 

Ciri simply nodded.

* * *

When Geralt came back, Ciri was intently and content watching Jaskier’s fingers stumble over the strings of the lute. He was already faster than he was that morning. 

“...It steals all my reason, commits every treason of logic, with nought but a look. A storm breaking on the horizon of long and heartache and lust-” Jaskier stopped when he noticed Geralt. 

“Don’t stop on my account.” Geralt came closer to the two. 

“Haven’t had enough filling-less pie?” Jaskier’s eyes were guarded. The man was still testing the water. 

“My taste’s changes.” Geralt shrugged. 

Jaskier smiled to himself and started playing again. Ciri didn’t care he was playing a different song, but Geralt was curious and wanted to know why.

* * *

After cleaning dinner dishes, Jaskier was the first of the trio to fall asleep. He had started out stargazing but had dozed off. Geralt noticed his companion was asleep and got the blanket from Roach. He draped it over the man and rolled his travelling cloak up, slipping it under his head. 

“He’s different. He doesn’t smile as much as he used to,” Ciri whispered. 

Geralt nodded. “He’s healing.” 

“Is that why you didn’t want him to go?” Ciri scooted closer to Geralt so she could talk more quietly. Also because it was comforting to be with people who definitely weren't monsters pretending to be someone else. 

“Partly.” 

“He likes you, too.”

“Hm?”

“Jaskier likes you too. He didn’t stay for me. His eyes are different when he looks at you.”

Geralt tossed another long on the fire. “He’s been through a lot, Ciri.” 

Ciri took that to mean she shouldn’t interrogate Jaskier. 

“Get some sleep,” Geralt suggested. “We’ll be here when you wake up. You can use Jaskier’s bedroll.” 

Rather than taking the offered bedroll, Ciri went over to JAskier and crawled under his blanket. The man bolted awake, his hand instantly going for his boot knife. He relaxed when he saw the princess’ golden hair reflecting the silver stars.

Jaskier held a hand out to her and she curled up against his chest. He made sure she was fully covered by the blanket before glancing around to find Geralt. He nodded to the Witcher and closed his eyes to sleep again.

Geralt was happy Jaskier decided to stay. He needed the man. So did Ciri. Jaskier was a big brother. He knew what someone like Ciri needed. Ciri may have been an only child, but he got the feeling these two would be siblings in no time. The Witcher found himself wondering just how many times Jaskier awakened to his own little sister seeking comfort from a bad dream. If only Ciri could wake up from this one.

* * *

Ciri’s position when she woke up was different than the one she fell asleep in. She was still curled up against Jaskier, but his arms were around her and they were sitting up. The teen didn’t bother opening her eyes. This was peaceful. Calm. And she liked the way Jaskier’s voice vibrated in his chest under her ear as he spoke with Geralt in hushed tones. 

“Whether you or I go into town, we do need supplies. Ciri needs boots she can actually travel in without her feet becoming more calloused than your hands.” Jaskier paused, adjusting his arm’s position when his hand started falling asleep. “Get her some pants so she’s not tripping over the hem of her dress.” 

“Do you need anything?” 

“Spices to dry and smoke meat.” 

“I’ll find an inn or tavern and see if anyone has a monster. We’re low.” 

“I’ve got some coin, too. I’ll practice for another hour or so and play in the square to get more.” 

“Ciri and Roach stay with you.”

“Geralt-”

“No. Roach stays with you and the girl. If someone recognizes her, get on Roach and run. I’ll find you two.” 

Relenting, Jaskier nodded. 

Ciri picked that as a good time to open her eyes. She was messily wrapped in the blanket she and Jaskier slept under the night before. She was seated in Jaskier’s lap, her head and upper body leaned against his chest. 

“Someone decided to wake up.” Jaskier chuckled at the girl’s yawn. Another laugh escaped him when she simply snuggled against him for the warmth. 

“You must be comfortable, Jask.” 

“Huh. Guess so. Of all the things I’ve been called, comfortable is probably one of the nicest.”

Ciri giggled. “You’re warm.”

“I have heard that one, but thank you.” Jaskier smoothed down Ciri’s hair. “You slept on me which means Geralt cooked.”

“Is that bad?” Ciri’s eyes darted between the two. 

The hitcher huffed. “He says I use too much salt.” Geralt handed both of them a bowl of the porage. It didn’t have the berries or diced apples Jaskier would toss in but it still had sugar, cinnamon, and nutmeg. 

Ciri giggled when she felt Jaskier nodded. 

“Isn’t it too salty?” Jaskier asked Ciri, winking at Geralt over her head.

“Maybe a little,” she played along. 

“There’s no salt in it,” Geralt grumbled.

* * *

“Meet me at the bridge by mid-day.” Geralt retied the leather strip keeping his hair back in its usual style. “If you aren’t there-”

“You’ll find us. Likewise.” Jaskier nodded. One of Jaskier’s hands was being gripped by Ciri’s and the other was holding Roach’s reins. “We’ll be alright, Geralt.” 

Geralt resisted the urge to kiss Jaskier. However, the man, more observant than he once was, kissed the Witcher’s cheek when he noticed his companion’s unusual eyes darting between his eyes and his lips. 

“Go get the supplies we need. We’ll get what Ciri needs, I’ll play at the inn, and we’ll go to the bridge,” Jaskier promised. 

Geralt squeezed Jaskier’s shoulder, ruffled Ciri’s hair, and went on his way. 

Jaskier started to lead Ciri into the town but stopped when Ciri didn’t move. “Ciri?” He looked back at her. 

“Call me Fiona.” 

“What?”

“Fiona. My middle name. No-one’s batted an eye at it yet.” She shuffled from one foot to the other and squeezed Jaskier’s hand a little tighter. 

“Wise.” The corner of his mouth turned up for half a second. “Come, young one.” 

Getting Ciri’s boots and practical clothes took very little time. The two were at the inn sooner than Jaskier expected. The man had chosen the inn because there was a greater chance of kinder folk and new people to town who hadn’t spent all their money yet. Playing more mellow music was expected at the inn so that was a bonus considering he was still out of practice.

Ciri tucked into a corner but made sure she could see him and made sure he could see her. She tapped her foot to the beat of Jaskier’s songs. Quite a few people were dropping coin onto the table beside Jaskier. 

Getting a look out the window, Jaskier added the new coin to his pouch. “Fiona.” He held his hand out to the girl. She rushed to him and gripped his hand again. “A lovely day to you, madam.” He bowed to the innkeeper and led Ciri off. “Let’s get to Roach wait for Geralt at the bridge”

“I’ll be damned,” called a voice behind them.” 

“Keep going,” Jaskier whispered. 

“Is that you, Jaskier?” the man demanded. 

Jaskier turned around, pushing Ciri to keep going. “It is. I hadn’t recognized your voice, Bryan. I hate to run--it’s been years--but I’m looking after my friend’s daughter and have to get her home.” He made to catch up with Ciri but Bryan caught his wrist and pulled him back. 

“Who of your friends is old enough to have a child her age?” Bryan chuckled. 

“A woman, Cora, I met when travelling with the White Wolf. He took care of the monster, I stayed with Cora to entertain her daughter. I really must be getting her home.” 

“Where is your Witcher?” 

Jaskier huffed a sigh. “I don’t know. We split paths almost a year ago. I haven’t crossed paths with him yet.” He pulled his wrist from Bryan’s hold.

“She looks a lot like the late Princess Pavetta, you know.” 

Without a second thought, Jaskier twisted Bryan’s arm behind his back, grabbed the back of his neck, and slammed the side of the fool’s head against the nearest barrel. Knowing Bryan was unconscious, Jaskier sprinted to Ciri who took his hand and ran with him.

Jaskier lifted Ciri onto Roach, got on behind her, and urged the horse to run. They didn’t stop at the bridge but kept going. 

“Is he dead?” Ciri looked over her shoulder at Jaskier’s concentrated face. 

“No idea.” 

Ciri tightly fisted the sleeve of Jaskier’s tunic, Roach continuing to run under them. “Please don’t leave when Geralt finds us. You kept me safe.”


	7. Swords and Berries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ciri learns about Geralt's Witchering, Geralt and Jaskier have a heart-to-heart, and Ciri gets some lessons in survival.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I owe Inconspicuous_flashdrive thanks for helping me with this chapter. Also, I don't have a clear cut idea for the next chapter, so if any of you have an idea of where it should go, don't be afraid to message me in the comments or on Tumblr. @creativeautistic

Geralt was late to the bridge by three hours. Taking down the drowner by the river took him longer than he’d expected because one drowner ended up being four. When the man who had hired him saw that the trouble wasn’t caused by one monster, he paid the Witcher three times as much as they had agreed. 

There was a man lying in the streets and Geralt was a little surprised no-one was helping him. Town drunk maybe? No. He wasn’t drunk. Geralt would have smelled alcohol on him. So, the Witcher crouched down and checked the man’s pulse. He wasn’t dead. That’s something. 

The man hummed as he stirred at Geralt’s touch. He rolled over, holding his head. The deep bruising on the side of his face made Geralt scowl. “What happened to you?” 

“Fuckin’ bard,” he growled. 

“What?” 

“A...a bard. He knocked me out against that barrel.” He pointed. “By the gods. He’s stronger than he looks.” 

“Where did he go?” 

“I don’t fucking know. I wanna beat his ass.” The man started to get off the ground. Geralt helped him up by grabbing the collar of his shirt and lifting him off the ground. 

“What was his name?”

“J-Jaskier. What the-” 

“Did he have a blonde girl with him?”

“Yeah. Fiona. Look, I don’t know where he went. I tried talking to the damned bard, said the girl looked like the dead princess of Cintra, and he knocked me out.” Bryan’s legs flailed uselessly at the knees. 

Geralt dropped Bryan and turned away, ignoring the questions yelled at his back. The only thing the Witcher had on his mind was where the two went. Roach was nowhere to be seen, so at least Jaskier had followed his instructions. That would also make them easier to track. 

He headed in the direction of the bridge, getting the feeling that the man would have gone past the bridge rather than back the way they came. 

* * *

“Jaskier?” Ciri tried again. She was sitting on the floor of the cave they’d found and were hiding in until Geralt found them. The cave was deep enough to protect them from the elements while being too shallow for there to be hiding animals in the depths. 

The man, however, had been pacing back and forth while pulling at his growing hair. He knew Geralt would find them but the question of how and when was a totally different matter. He hadn’t said much but instead nodded mindlessly when Ciri asked if she could play around with his lute. She wanted something to do and Jaskier wasn’t in the mood for chatting. 

“Yes?” He finally turned to the teen. “I’m sorry.” 

“Where are we?” Ciri asked. 

Jaskier sighed. “I’m not sure. A few miles outside of the town we left. There’s enough distance between us and the town that Bryan won’t be a problem.”

“Who is he?”

“Bryan?” 

Ciri nodded, looking up at him with her wide teal eyes. 

Jaskier sighed and sat across from the girl. “He went to the same college as I did for a couple of years. We were rivals for a while. Both of us were aspiring bards and everyone knew it was going to be either him or myself to raise up on top. 

“The fool went to a feast held by a knight in his nearby manor and got drunk beyond belief. When he got back to the campus he got it into his mind that it would be wise to rape the headmaster’s daughter. He’s lucky he wasn’t killed. Anyway, as a result of his assault, he was expelled from the college.”

“Did you really not recognize him?” Ciri’s arms were now wrapped around her knees as she watched Jaskier intently. 

“I didn’t, no. I hadn’t seen him since he was expelled. Getting expelled from a college means you’re barred from all the others in the continent. Being expelled means you’re less likely to be accepted into a guild, which means you’re less likely to get hired, and so on. He isn’t a bard and before I happened upon Geralt years ago, bards and the royals who hired me were all I talked to.”

“When is Geralt coming?” 

“I don’t know. I don’t know what job he found, what he’s hunting, how long finding it is going to take. He’ll get to us as soon as he can. I’m not too worried.” Jaskier glanced at the girl and saw how uneasy she was. “Come here, Ciri.” He held his hand out to her and she instantly crawled her way over, curling up against him again. “We’ll be fine.”

* * *

Geralt walked a mile from the bridge when he lost Roach’s trail. The tracks just disappeared. They didn’t go into the woods or further up the path. They just stopped. Not knowing where to go next, Geralt huffed and withdrew one of his back potions from his pocket. 

The Witcher looked at the vial, contemplating. His heightened senses helped him to track monsters so why wouldn’t this make it easier to find a pair of humans and a horse. Shrugging, Geralt removed the cork and downed the potion. He waited a few moments for the potion to take effect and took a deep breath when it finally did. 

West.

* * *

Someone was nearby. Jaskier could feel it. 

He gently uncurled himself from around Ciri and picked up his bow, swinging his quiver over his shoulder so it rested across his back where his lute used to. The princess had stirred and sat up, rubbing her tired eyes. Jaskier pressed a finger to his lips telling her to be quiet. She nodded mutely. 

Creeping closer to the entrance of the cave, Jaskier knocked a bow and had it ready to fire at any given movement. A twig snapped to his left and he spun, dropping to one knee and drawing the arrow back. 

“It’s me, Jaskier,” came Geralt’s deep voice from a couple of yards away. 

Jaskier’s shoulders relaxed and he released the breath he had been holding since he woke up. “Any trouble?” 

“Not with the monster. I got paid more than we agreed upon. How’s Ciri?”

Jaskier stood, placing the arrow back in his quiver. “She’s fine. I probably scared the daylights out of her.” He turned back towards the cave and Ciri was already looking at him. She gasped when she saw Geralt’s black eyes and darkly veined face. 

“No, no. Ciri, it’s alright. He’s doing what I like to call Witchering. It’s how he found us so quickly,” Jaskier tried to calm her down. 

“How do you do it?” The nanosecond of fear was replaced with awe and wonder. She stepped closer to the two. 

Geralt didn’t resist as the ever-curious princess reached out to touch his face as though his skin would feel different from hers. Ciri was a little surprised when she found the blackened veins didn’t feel any different from the rest of his face. 

“There’s a potion,” was the only answer the Witcher gave. 

“Can you believe people think he’s a monster?” Jaskier went deeper into the cave but could feel Ciri’s incredulous eyes on his back. 

“A  _ monster _ ?” 

Geralt winced at the princess’ loud tone. “You don’t know much about Witchers. We aren’t humans.” 

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “For his sake, Ciri, don’t speak too loudly.” 

Ciri turned back to Geralt and he heard her hair brushing against her cloak. “What does the potion do? Jaskier said it helped you find us?” 

“It heightens my senses for a while. I lost Roach’s tracks so I tracked Jaskier.” Geralt joined Jaskier by the fire. 

“How?” Ciri followed Geralt, sitting between him and Jaskier. 

“I know his heartbeat and scent.” 

Jaskier bit back a laugh. “I’d be terrified if anyone other than you said that.” He spooned some of the stew he’d made for his and Ciri’s dinner into a bowl and handed it to Geralt. 

“How long does the potion last?” 

“Not long. Under an hour.” Geralt started eating, ignoring how much stronger the sage, basil, and marjoram tasted. “What happened in the town?” 

“He didn’t do anything wrong,” Ciri said in a panic. 

“I know. He did what I told him and kept you safe. I talked to the man. He’s alive. Concussed. But alive.”

Jaskier gave him the same run-down he gave Ciri earlier in the day and explained what had happened. He had hoped the man wasn’t dead--he didn’t want nor need more blood on his hands. The man wanted to say he was debating leaving. If Bryan hadn’t had seen or heard him in the first place, he wouldn’t have noticed Ciri. He could simply leave the coin he made that day and go; leaving the lute, of course, for Ciri since she seemed to have an interest in-

“You’re not leaving,” Geralt broke the silence. His eyes were back to normal now, his face returned to its usual pallid complexion rather than the ashen grey. “You didn’t fuck up. You got her out and kept her safe. That’s what the plan was.” 

The man shook his head and said nothing else. 

“Jaskier-”

“I’ll still be here when you wake up.” Jaskier stirred the pot. Do you need more, Ciri?”

The princess shook her head. Geralt held his bowl out for seconds and Jaskier happily complied, filling his own again with what was left. The two ate in silence. The end of the carrot that was left out of the soup was fed to Roach by Ciri before Geralt found them.

* * *

“Is she asleep?” Geralt motioned to Ciri.

Her head was resting in Jaskier’s lap as he played with the girl’s hair. “Yeah. She has been for a while.”

“I need to...I’m not good with words.” 

“I’ve known you for a good number of years, Geralt. I know.” Jaskier ran his fingers through Ciri’s hair to undo another braid. 

“I know what the fluttering is.”

What did he want Jaskier to do with this? He knew what it was from the start. Did Geralt really not know. 

“Oh?” Why not play dumb?

Geralt’s eyes narrowed at Jaskier’s tone. Jaskier was right when he said they’d known each other for a “good number of years”. “You knew.” 

“I’m a romantic. Of course, I knew. I’ve spent most of my life writing songs and poems about my feelings of love.” 

“You didn’t say anything.”

“No. For once in my life, I didn’t say anything. Two reasons. First: you wouldn’t have believed me. Second: I wanted to hear you say it. I’ve been in love with you for years. You knew that. You know damn well I’m still in love with you. There was nothing I could do about it and nothing you wanted to do about it. I’d just gotten you back. I wasn’t going to fuck it up by running my mouth. Because quite frankly, Geralt, I’d rather have you in my life as a friend than not at all. 

“I can push my feelings aside and focus on our  _ friendship _ because you’re important to me and now Ciri needs us. I need you too and not just because I used to write my songs about you. I wasn't lying all those years ago when I said you’re best friend. And what happened last year hasn’t changed that.” 

“I do love you.” Geralt’s scarred and calloused hand tilted Jaskier’s chin up. The man was glaring at his hands playing with Ciri’s hair so strongly the Witcher was impressed Ciri didn’t wake up. “Know that. It took a while, but I do.” 

It pained Geralt to see Jaskier’s eyes a little teary from his rant. He wanted to tell Jaskier what he figured out; to tell Jaskier he wanted to move further in whatever the hell it was they had. He didn’t want to make him cry. He wanted to do the opposite of that. 

Jaskier’s breath caught in his throat. His teal eyes met Geralt’s orange ones. “I still love you.” 

Slowly, Geralt leaned forward, giving Jaskier the time to pull away. Instead, the Witcher was elated when Jaskier closed the rest of the distance. Geralt smiled into the kiss and Jaskier giggled. 

Ciri picked  _ that _ moment to wake up. She squealed at the sight of both men leaned together over her head. The two pulled apart, laughing at the bright red blush that spread up Ciri’s usually pale face. 

“Sorry,” Jaskier managed out between his laughs. 

Ciri shook her head as she sat up. “I fell asleep on  _ you _ .” She brushed the hair from her eyes. “Are you two…”

Geralt and Jaskier looked at each other, both silently asking the other. Both nodded. 

“Yeah,” Jaskier answered. “We are.”

* * *

The next morning, Jaskier jumped awake at the sound of blades crushing together. He rolled and grabbed his bow. He instantly relaxed when he saw Geralt with his steel sword, Ciri’s tiny hands gripping the handle of his silver sword so tightly her knuckles were milky. 

Instead of laying back to try and catch some measure of sleep he knew he wasn’t going to get, he sat up and took in the scene. His life hadn’t been this peaceful since the mornings months ago when he’d wake up to Geralt talking with Roach in hushed tones. 

A fire was crackling under their cooking pot which undoubtedly was filled with Geralt’s godforsaken porage. Ciri was giggling, Roach was snoring, Geralt was chuckling and correcting Ciri’s stance, her hold on the sword, or on her blocks. No one was screaming. There were no monsters; no rush to eat quickly and leave before the wind changed direction. Birds were singing in the trees nearby. 

His steps habitually silent, Jaskier walked to where Ciri left his lute the night before and retrieved it. He moved back to where he could see the two sparring and sat with the lute in his lap.

Geralt glanced over to the mouth of the cave when he heard the first plunking of the lute and offered him a small smile. Jaskier returned it with a grin. Ciri, taking advantage of Geralt being distracted, swung for the Witcher’s legs. Geralt narrowly jumped back, deflecting the blow. The added touch of panic gave Geralt’s parry a little more force than intended and Ciri yelped as the blade flew from her hands. 

She giggled sheepishly. “That’s what I get for trying to surprise a Witcher.” 

“Are you hurt?” Jaskier asked as he stood. 

“No, no. I wasn’t expecting to be disarmed.” 

“It was a clever attack.” Geralt nodded his approval. He resheathed both swords and walked to the cooking pot. “This is almost done.” 

“You didn’t put the berries in it, did you?” Jaskier crossed his arms. 

“No.” 

Jaskier shook his head and held his hand out to Ciri. “Come on. You got a lesson in swordplay, now it’s time for a lesson in which berries will and will not kill you. It’s easier than you think.” 

Geralt smiled to himself at Jaskier’s antics. He didn’t know exactly what the two of them were now, but whatever they were, they were together. Stirring the porridge and adding a little more sugar, Geralt had to stop and think. Could things have been so different sooner had he stopped fighting and resisting his feelings for Jaskier? 

Jaskier was teaching him how to think. Really think. He wasn’t focussing on what he was doing, how he could have found the monster faster, what sword stroke he could have used instead to keep the deer from getting scratched in the cross-fire. He was thinking of himself for once and the people around him. Before going to bed he actually made sure Ciri was fully covered by the blanket before laying in the mouth of the cave next to Jaskier. 

The Witcher looked over to Jaskier and Ciri when Ciri laughed at Jaskier who was trying to catch a small toad. His hands were cupped together and he was crouched down low, determination in his eyes. He could catch the toad. Geralt had seen him do it enough. Before Geralt’s mistake a year ago, Jaskier would try to catch toads, frogs, crickets, whatever little creature was springing around and caught the bard’s attention. Jaskier even became “friends” with a frog and kept it as a pet for a few weeks before a stable hand found it in Roach’s saddlebag and set it free. 

He finally caught the toad and held it out for Ciri to see. He lowered his hands and let it go after Ciri pet it. Jaskier went back to showing the princess the blueberries and how to tell them apart from what he started pseudo-blues a few years ago. Geralt still didn't know what they were but he did remember the week-long rash Jaskier had on his left palm after he got some of the juice on his hand. They both came back with two handfuls each and dumped them into the porridge. 

“After we eat, I want to teach you a bit more Ciri. I don’t expect you to master the sword today, but I would like for you to know self-defence in case something like yesterday happens again but goes worse.” 

“I can teach you how to fire an arrow, as well,” Jaskier offered.

"Can you teach me to play something on the lute?" Ciri had to ask.

"I'll teach you what I can." 


	8. Even the Smallest Person can Change the Course of the Future.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Helping a Witcher with brain commotions is strange.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of the chapter comes from J.R.R Tolkien's "Lord of the Rings".
> 
> I had godforsaken writers' block most of the week. I have @permanently-exgausted-witcher and @morte-mistrata on Tumblr to thank for me getting out of that rut so I could write this chapter.

“You don’t know how to swim?” Jaskier rolled up his sleeves so they wouldn’t get gross while he skinned the fish Geralt managed to catch for lunch. 

“No.” Ciri tilted her up in defiance. “I’ll bet you all the gold you have I can beat you in Knuckle Bones, though.” The girl laughed at the incredulous look Jaskier gave her. The two had been getting along swimmingly and it was clear they both enjoyed the newfound bond. 

Geralt sat a foot or so away from Jaskier. The poor Witcher was still waiting for his hair to dry. He was fishing and hadn’t planned the bank being as slippery as it was. He lost his footing and went into the water headfirst. He was just happy it was a warm day. 

Jaskier “helped” him dry his hair and offered him a blanket. Geralt was a little chilly but that didn’t mean he was going to take the damned blanket. What made things odd, was that Jaskier could read him now. It wasn’t just Jaskier making subtle faces at Geralt and the Witcher understanding in less than half a passing glance. It took Jaskier a mere second to understand what Geralt was thinking or how he was feeling. 

At night, Geralt’s amber eyes would see Ciri sound asleep curled up against Jaskier’s side. Jaskier, seeing something akin to jealousy in Geralt’s eyes, would hold his other arm out for Geralt to come closer. More than once, Geralt woke up to Ciri’s head pillowed on one of his shoulders while Jaskier’s head was resting on his chest with an arm wrapped around both him and Ciri. Those, in Geralt’s opinion, were the best mornings. 

Both Ciri and Jaskier knew it. 

“Geralt?” Jaskier snapping his fingers in Geralt’s ear snapped him back to reality. The man held up his forefinger. “Follow my finger.” 

The Witcher squinted, sceptical. 

“Humour me, Witcher.” Jaskier’s tone was firm though his words were teasing. Geralt sighed but willed his eyes to follow Jaskier’s finger. He didn’t realise he was looking at Ciri until he felt Jaskier’s hand on the top of his head. “Does your head hurt?” 

“No.” 

“Geralt.” 

“A little. I’m fine.” 

“You’re fine. I think you have a concussion. We need to find you a healer.” Jaskier turned to Ciri. “Can you start getting Roach ready? I’ll-”

“I’m fine, Jaskier.” 

“Your attention span is shit, Geralt. That’s not normal for you. You must have hit your head on a rock or something when you fell in the water. We’ll find you a healer and you'll be good as new, running around in the woods like a deer in no time.” Jaskier stood and held his hand out to Geralt to help him up. “Please with Ciri and me.” 

Geralt sighed but took Jaskier’s hand nonetheless. The Witcher stumbled and fell back down when Ciri screamed, pressing his palms to the sides of his head as pain erupted like he was blasted with fire. 

Jaskier spun on his heel to see several men walk closer, one of them had snuck up on Ciri and grabbed her from behind. She managed to bite the man’s hand and screamed, launching five of the others flying back. 

“Don’t move,” Jaskier ordered Geralt, drawing his bow. He knocked two arrows, releasing one to take down the man holding Ciri. Nine. The second arrow was adjusted to the left and released to kill the man next closest to the Princess. Ten. 

Jaskier taking out the two closest men gave Ciri enough time to draw the steel sword from Geralt’s sheath hanging from Roach’s saddle. The steel sword was heavier than the silver sword, but Geralt had told her about how the silver sword wasn’t as strong as the steel one and that was why he had two swords; he fought humans with the steel sword. 

One of the men laughed at the sight of the small, delicate girl lifting a sword nearly longer than she was tall. At least he was until Ciri took his distracted laughter as a chance to stab him. He fell. She forced the thought from her mind. She had killed people before in self-defence. Now she was defending Geralt. That was nobler, right? 

“Jaskier! Geralt.” She pointed and hardly had enough to parry the blow from yet another man. 

Just as the man raised the bandit raised his sword, Jaskier let fly with another arrow, the head protruding from the front of his neck. Eleven. Ciri was still going strong with the man that wouldn’t back down; see the rest of his men had fallen. Not wanting the girl to feel even more guilt of killing another human, Jaskier drew back his string one last time and released it. Like all of his other arrows, this one too found its mark and ended the man’s life with little pain. 

Two of the men had broken necks from Ciri’s scream that sent them flying. Three others were impaled on branches of the trees. That was all of the men. 

Jaskier shouldered his bow and ran to Ciri, wrapping in her tight hug before gripping her shoulders at arms’ length to look her over for injury. “Are you okay? Are you hurt? Does-” 

“I’m fine. It’s Geralt that needs a healer.” Ciri pushed Jaskier’s shoulder to get him to move. 

“Shit!” He took Ciri’s hand and they both sprinted back to the Witcher. 

He looked around dazed with confusion in his eyes. “Did I Witcher?” 

“No, no. Geralt, we  _ need _ to get you to a healer. Ciri, help me get him onto Roach.” Jaskier took one of Geralt’s arms and draped it over his shoulder. Ciri did the same. The short walk to Roach was confused and lopsided given the height difference between the three. “We really need to get a second Horse. We’re torturing poor Roach at this point.” 

“Bend your knee,” Ciri grunt, trying to help Jaskier lift Geralt onto Roach. 

Geralt swayed slightly, gripping the pommel of the saddle. He seemed to get the message of what was going on and struggled to help them. 

“It’s weird seeing him like this. I don’t like it.” Ciri finally got Geralt onto Roach. 

“In all the years I’ve travelled with him, he’s never hurt his head. Stabbings, he was almost drowned a couple of times, he’s been shot with arrows, he’s broken bones. Of all those injuries, this has got to be the worst one to deal with… On my end. He’s too delirious to actually know he’s hurt so this is probably-”

“Jask!” 

“Right! Sorry. We can’t push Roach; she won’t be able to get to a town and the pace could do Geralt more harm than good.” Jaskier gave Ciri a boost on to the saddle sitting in front of Geralt. “Keep Roach at a steady jog.” 

“What about you?” Her teal eyes were as wide as ever. 

“I’ll keep up. Don’t worry about me.” Jaskier made sure Geralt was safely seated on the saddle and whacked Roach right behind the saddle. She started off and Jaskier started at a pace somewhere between a run and a jog.

“You can’t be serious!” Ciri looked at him, the reins tightly gripped in her little hands. 

“Don’t worry,” he repeated.

* * *

Jaskier wrapped on the door of the healer’s they were given directions to. Waiting for the door open, he bent down and braced his hands on his thighs as he tried to catch his breath from the run. 

Finally, the door opened and an old woman stood in front of him. “Are you the healer?” 

“Yes. Heavens, child! Did you run all the way here?” 

“Yes, actually. That’s not why I’m here. My friend- he hit his head and it’s beyond my basic knowledge of healing. Can you help him?” 

“I can certainly try. Where are we going?” The woman grabbed a wicker basket from by the door. 

“The inn. I gave my sister money for a room there. She should be waiting for us there with him.” Jaskier stepped away from the door and the woman followed him. “I’m sorry to drag you-”

“No, no, no. I am a healer after all. If I didn’t want to be dragged from my home at all hours of the day, I wouldn’t have become a healer. Besides, it’s still bright out so I’m not losing sleep. Don’t fret, child. I’ll help your friend soon enough and he’ll be perfectly fine.” 

Jaskier nodded and held the door open to the inn when they reached it. He wasted no time in leading her up the stairs to the room Ciri had told him the number of. “He hit his head this morning. I hadn’t realized until an hour later. He was fishing, slipped on the bank, and I think he hit his head on a rock or something under the water.” 

“Hm. I’ll look at him when we get to your room, but don’t worry about him. Your friend will live, I’m sure.” 

Jaskier did a rhythmic knock on the door so Ciri wouldn’t panic when she heard the door open and motioned the woman to enter the room. Ciri was sitting on the bed where Geralt laid. The Witcher was awake, but his eyes weren’t as bright as they should have been. 

The healer stopped in the door out of shock. The white-haired Witcher had the body of someone at their peak, the face of someone in their 40s, and the hair of someone at least in their 80s. The oddest thing about him was his eyes. What devil has amber eyes?

“Please,” Ciri pleaded. “He won’t talk to me.” 

The woman snapped out of her stupor. “Yes of course! I’m sorry...I lost myself a moment. What’s his name?” 

“Geralt,” Ciri blurted.

“That explains his eyes. Who’re the two of you?” The healer asked. She was laying out an assortment of potion bottles and herbs. 

“Jaskier. This is my sister, Fiona.” 

“Lovely to meet you; though I wouldn’t have minded if it was under better circumstances.” She moved closer to Jaskier and Geralt’s eyes followed her movements for a few seconds before floating to Jaskier. The man’s blue eyes met Geralt’s pleadingly. 

Jaskier wanted his lover back. The fond banter, the teasing over if a bow or sword was better in a fight, debates over how to take care of Ciri. He wanted Geralt back. 

The check-up was over as soon as it started. “He’ll be alright in a few days. I’ll leave this tonic with you; it’ll help him if he gets headaches along the way of his recovery. His brain just had a little commotion but it isn’t too serious. Come back and get me if anything changes.” 

“Thank you!” Jaskier reached into his pocket for some coins. “How much-”

“Keep your coin, child. I know the tales of The White Wolf and all he does for us humans. Helping the man who saves us all is payment enough considering all he’s done.” 

Jaskier couldn’t stop the smile from crossing his face. “Thank you, again, madam.” 

The woman left and Jaskier closed the door behind her, bolting it. He turned back to the bed and sat on it across from Ciri. “So he’ll be okay.” He lifted Geralt’s head off the bed and sat down, resting the Witcher’s head on his lap. “You’re still doing alright, Ciri?” 

“Fine. But how are you?” 

“Sore; tired. That run was tiring. We were farther out than I thought.” Jaskier brushed his bangs off his forehead. He proceeded to run his fingers through Geralt’s hair who was seemingly asleep. His eyes were closed, his breaths deep and steady. 

“We can stay here for the rest of the day, can’t we?” Ciri’s eyes were hopeful. 

“Yes, yes. We should leave tomorrow before mid-day, though. Laying here and getting some real rest for the rest of the day, however, is absolutely going to happen. Do you want a bath? We have enough coin.” 

Ciri shook her head. “I still want to learn to swim.” 

“I don’t know when that’s going to be.” 

“I’d still rather bathe later. I...I don’t want…”

“I completely understand.” Jaskier adjusted how he was sitting and Geralt stirred slightly. Jaskier whispered something in his ear and he settled down again. With Geralt resting again, Jaskier held his hand out for Ciri and the girl crawled across the bed to him.

* * *

When Geralt woke up, the sky outside the window was dark but the summer night air was still warm. There was a small form tucked into his side and his head was pillowed by something other than a pillow. He opened his eyes and found Jaskier was sleeping, his chin resting against his chest. The man’s neck would be paying the price for that angle all of the next day. 

Geralt sat up slowly, his head feeling like it was stuffed to brim with cotton batting. He pressed a hand to his forehead and repressed a groan. 

“Geralt?” Jaskier rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “How do you feel?” 

The Witcher grunted. 

“I feared that…” Jaskier eased Ciri off of himself and walked to the desk under the window. “The healer left a potion with us; she said it would help your headache if you got one. She says you’ll be good as new in a couple of days.” 

“What happened at the water’s edge?” Geralt took the potion from Jaskier when it was held out to him and knocked it back without really noticing the godforsaken taste. 

“I’m not...I’m not totally sure. Ciri screamed and people went flying. The men that weren’t killed from that were easy enough to deal with. And you should know that Ciri is actually learning a thing or two in your sword...lessons. She helped me take them down.” 

“Do you know who they were?” 

“Common bandits as far as I know. No fancy armour or seals. They were less armoured than I am.” Jaskier sat back down on the bed. Ciri cracked her eyes open for a second before curling up against Jaskier once more and falling asleep in seconds. “Ciri and I got you to the nearest town we could find. You’ve been out of it most of the day.” 

“You’re both alright?” 

“Yes, yes, of course. So is Roach. She’s been a trooper through all of this. I think we’ve bonded, her and I.” Jaskier puffed his chest out a little and Geralt chortled. “Come here. I haven’t been able to kiss you since you slipped.” 

Geralt was happy to quickly oblige. 

Ciri hummed. “Why do you only kiss when I’m sleeping on Jaskier?” She scoffed and snuggled her face against Jaskier’s stomach. 

Jaskier and Geralt looked at each other and laughed.

* * *

As Jaskier had suggested, the trio was setting off shortly before midday. He and Geralt had traded spots: Geralt was riding Roach with Ciri while Jaskier walked beside the horse. Geralt insisted he could walk just fine but Jaskier wasn’t having it. The Witcher rode his horse and Jaskier walked alongside. 

Geralt was thinking about what Jaskier had said. Something about Ciri’s scream launching people back. That would mean that she had some sort of magic. Of what sort he wasn’t sure. She couldn’t be a Witcher, not really. That was impossible, wasn’t it? 

The Witcher knew he should be reaching out and trying to find someone who could help him but there were always spies everywhere. Other than Tris, Jaskier, and Ciri, there was no-one alive he could trust with this. There was one person. 

No. Nope. That wasn’t going to happen. Every time they crossed paths everything went downhill faster than an apple falling from a tree. He’d find someone else he could trust. He had to. Yennefer wasn’t going to be an option. He crossed that bridge and burned it behind him last year. 

Ciri tapped Geralt’s forearm and he came back to senses. “Do you need another healer?” 

“No. Just...got lost in my mind.” 

“That’s not safe, Geralt,” Jaskier reminded. “What do you say we find a clearing and stop for the day?” 

“Unless Ciri needs to rest I’m fine.” 

“Ciri’s fine,” Ciri dismissed. “You do look pale, though.” 

“We’ll go a bit further and then find somewhere; put a bit distance between us and the town,” Jaskier decided. His voice was steady and sure, leaving no room for discussion or debate. 

This is another side of Jaskier that Geralt was trying to get used to. The man that took charge and called the shots. If he had a gut feeling, he’d feel it to the very end and couldn’t be stopped. Jaskier no longer whined and nagged for things. When something happened, Jaskier would go toe-to-toe with Geralt if he thought the Witcher was being childish or was too close to an issue to make a secure choice. And if Geralt was being honest, it took a decent amount of weight off his shoulders. 

Ciri was humming a song that Geralt couldn’t name. He assumed it was one Jaskier was starting to teach her on his lute. It was a new hobby they had taken up. When it was too dark or too cold to do anything other than cuddle up close in front of a fire. Lots of giggling always came from these lessons and Geralt didn’t mind them because these two were happy and bubbly once again. For a few minutes almost every night, they weren’t on the run any more. They weren’t hiding from an entire country. 

They travelled for another hour and stopped when Ciri muttered she was hungry. The girl was growing and was starting to need more and more to eat at meals. It wasn’t much of a problem considering it was early summer and forging was easy since everything was starting to ripen. Jaskier once climbed a tree to get four apples. He couldn’t leave Roach out, now could he?” 

Jaskier cooked the last of the fish they had from the day before and dished up the soup he made. Fish wasn’t Jaskier’s favourite meat by any means, but he was getting tired of deer and rabbit. They tried squirrels once but they would have had to kill every one of the little critters to sustain the three of them. Even with the veggies and potatoes in the stew. 

Ciri was cross with the situation. She never had a brother before and Jaskier was the best big brother she could ever imagine having. The princess also hadn’t had...whatever it was Geralt was to her. The three were close and getting closer with each passing day. She still missed her grandparents most days, wishing everything that happened was simply a dream. But then she felt as though she was betraying Geralt and Jaskier.

* * *

At nightfall, Geralt took care of Roach. He made sure she had water and was in a spot with enough grass to last her the night. Brushing the horse, he listened to the lute lesson Jaskier was giving Ciri. The two were a fit of giggles and the Witcher was happy for it. Everything was alright for once. His mind was still settling, but he was well on the way to getting better.

Roach knocked her head into Geralt’s chest and he looked at her, tilting his head to the side. “What? Hm?” Roach knickered and shook her head, her hair swaying along with the movement. “I know. You might be getting a friend soon.” He stroked her hair. “What do you think of that? Three people with one horse. We don’t want to put too much strain on you.” 

Ciri covered her mouth with her dainty hand as she yawned. Jaskier eased the lute from her other hand. “That is where we stop for the night.” 

“I’m not that tired,” Ciri protested. 

“You say that now, but give it five minutes and you’ll be sound asleep,” Jaskier countered. “Believe me. I’ve seen it countless times.” And he had. 

Geralt said goodnight to Roach and joined the two by the fire. After all of the previous night’s excitement, he was looking forward to being able to just lie by the fire with the two humans. The Witcher didn’t get a lot of chances to rest and relax, but this was one of his favourite ways. 

He laid beside Jaskier and Ciri scrambled to lay next to Geralt. She curled up small, resting her head on his shoulder. Jaskier followed suit, wrapping his arm around both of them, his head on Geralt’s chest. Geralt sighed and wrapped his arms around both of them. 

“I owe the two of you thanks.” Geralt spoke slowly, willing the shakiness he felt to leave. He just hoped his slow heartbeat didn’t give anything away to Jaskier. 

“Why?” Ciri tilted her head to look at Geralt. 

“Everything you’ve done the last two days.” 

Jaskier scoffed. “We didn’t do anything you wouldn’t have done for us.” 

“Ciri, you shouldn’t have had to fight. You’re a child.” Geralt cleared his throat.

“Eh. A lot’s happened… It’s not…” Ciri sighed. “I don’t know what it is.” She shook her head and curled up smaller against Geralt. 

“That’s alright.” Jaskier took her smaller hand in his. “Things are all over the place. We’re getting there.” 

“What did I do?” Ciri asked. She wasn’t looking at either of them, but her eyes were tearing up. “I’ve done it before. Before I found you. I don’t know what it is.” She rubbed the tears from her eyes.

Geralt eased her closer to him. “You have some power. I know someone that can help you more than I could.” 

Jaskier sat up and looked into Geralt’s eyes. “You’re talking about Yen?” 

“Yeah. She’d know what to do. She’d be able to teach Ciri.” 

“I have a way to contact her. I’ll do it in the morning.” Jaskier laid back down but his shoulders were tenser than before like he didn’t know if he should be this close to Geralt with the information he just gave.

“How do you have a way to contact her?” 

“When she told me where you were. She gave me a crystal that I could use to contact her if I ever needed to.” Jaskier shifted slightly. 

Geralt wrapped his arm back around Jaskier and the tension immediately dissipated. Jaskier tilted his head up and kissed Geralt’s chin. The Witcher smiled slightly and pressed a kiss to Jaskier’s forehead. 

“We’ll see what she has to say, then.”


	9. Mixing Things Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nilfgaard gets too close for comfort and Jaskier causes a distraction so Yen and Geralt can get Ciri to safety.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you all think, but I'm debating tapering this story off in the next couple of chapters.

Yennefer appeared before the trio, a smile on her face. “Skeir… You have guests…” 

“Yeah. That’s uh, that’s why I contacted you.” Jaskier’s left hand was fidgeting, the pad of his thumb circling the tips of his fore and middle fingers. 

“You need my help,” the mage’s eyes settled now on Geralt, “with your Child Surprise, I presume.” Yennefer looked at the teen, scrutinizing her blonde hair and vibrant teal eyes. “So this is the Lion Club of Cintra.” 

“Who are you?” The girl shied closer to Jaskier. 

“Ciri, this is Yennefer. She’s a friend of mine and a mage. I know she seems intimidating, but she’s not  _ all _ that scary when you get to know her a little better… Well, a lot better…” 

Yennefer offered a small smile. “Jaskier and I didn’t have a great first impression.” She chuckled at the memory. 

“She saved my life and...had a...party.” Jaskier didn’t know how to word such things around a child. 

“But you can help?” Ciri looked into Yen’s purple eyes. 

“That, Cub, depends on what it is you need help with.” 

“She has magic, Yen,” Geralt finally spoke up. He still wouldn’t meet her eyes. “I don’t know what her abilities are, or where they came from, but if anyone can find out, it’s you.” Geralt stiffened, straining his ears. “Someone’s coming. We need to move.” 

“Yen can you-” 

“What about you?” She cut Jaskier short. 

“I can hide and get away. Get them out of here. Please.” 

“Take Roach,” Geralt suggested. 

“I can’t hide with a horse, Geralt,” Jaskier shook his head. “How many are coming?” His words were faster. Jaskier knew they were coming quickly; Ciri had to get out of here and something in his gut told Jaskier Geralt had to be with her. Ciri’s destiny was tied to Geralt’s in some way; not his own. 

“At least six.” 

Jaskier nodded. “I’ll distract them and buy you time to get out of here.” Jaskier adjusted the quiver on his back but didn’t draw his bow. 

Ciri’s eyes were darting between him and Geralt. She knew they would trade places if she asked, but got the same feeling Jaskier did. It would be a little while until they saw each other again and for that time, she needed Geralt. 

“I’ll be alright, Ciri. I’ll find my way back to you just as Geralt found us. Be brave.” Jaskier kissed her forehead. “Now get out of here.” He ordered Geralt and Yennefer.

Jaskier sprinted back the way they had come the night before as he rounded the corner of the path, his heart skipped a beat at the sight of the Nilfgaaurdian flag. “Well fuck.” He straightened his back and ran again. He got just close enough for the patrol to see him, then swerved into the tree line. 

The path Jaskier found was wide enough for a horse but not the six that the patrollers rode. He’d keep them focused on him but he figured he would be reasonably safe. However, he wasn’t expecting one of them to have a crossbow. 

The bolt entered his shoulder and the force of it sent him tumbling to the ground with a scream. He panted through the pain, trying to roll onto his unwounded side to push himself upon his left arm. Before he got the chance, a hand forcefully grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled him up. He breathed deeply through clenched teeth, bringing his left hand up to grip his right shoulder around the wound where the bolt still protruded from his shoulder. 

“Well, well. This isn’t who we were looking for, but he’s pretty enough to entertain some of the men, hm?” the patrol leader looked over his shoulder to the other five men. “You alone?” 

“Yes.” Jaskier grit out. “I was hunting an elk you scared off.” 

“Oh,” the man laughed. “He’s a feisty one. Aryeh’s going to like this one.” He pushed Jaskier towards the men. The man that caught him was probably around his own age and had black hair, grey eyes. “Tie him up and we’ll bring him back to the camp.” 

Jaskier’s eyes widened at that and he struggled despite the waves of pain his shoulder shot through his body. “I was just hunting. I wasn’t-”

“We don’t care what you were doing,” the man now holding him scoffed. “Vidarr, if I keep him on my horse do I get the first round with him before Aryeh breaks him?” 

“I don’t care, Howlan. I’ve got no interest in the rawboned little thing.” 

The man, apparently Howlan, wrapped his hand around the fletching of the bolt shaft as an incentive for Jaskier to keep up and lead him to his horse. He withdrew a length of rope from his saddlebag. Jaskier groaned as Howlan brought his hands in front of him and bound them at the wrists. This left lasting pressure on the bolt which didn’t help the situation at all.

* * *

Yennefer transported Geralt, Roach, and Ciri to the cabin she had brought Geralt to months before via a portal. She was out of breath from the number of people going through the same portal, but she was trying to open another one. 

“What are you doing?” Geralt demanded. 

“Going back for Skeir,” Yennefer panted. 

The Witcher laid a hand on the mage’s shoulder. “You can hardly stand. Let yourself rest.” 

“I can’t. Not when I know he’s out there and in danger,” Yennefer shook her head. She concentrated what limited energy she had left and started to attempt again, but Geralt wouldn’t let her. 

“Yen, you’re going to be of any use to him like this. Is this cabin safe? Is it protected?” 

“I veiled it with magic when I brought you here. No-one but us and Jaskier know it’s here,” Yennefer confirmed. 

“Then rest a while and when you’re strong enough to open the portal again, I’ll go with you and we’ll go back and get him. Ciri can stay here with Roach where we know she’s safe.” 

“We don’t have a lot of time.” Yennefer’s voice was strained and it wasn’t something Geralt was used to hearing. She hardly ever let her emotions show honestly. 

“What are you talking about?” 

“You could hear how armed those men were, Geralt. Nilfgaard has been after you since Cintra fell. They know you have the Princess and they want her. If they get it out of Jaskier that he knows you, not even the gods know what they’ll do to him to get information about you. I’m not going to leave him to that fate because I’m not strong enough.” 

Ciri’s mind was reeling. Jaskier might be in danger and it was because she ran. So many people had died for her since the fall of Cintra. She didn’t want Jaskier’s name added to that list. Jaskier couldn’t be added to that list. 

“How can I help?” Her voice was shaking, but her eyes were fierce and burning. 

“You truly are a lion cub,” Yen looked to the girl. “Stay here. Boil water, and find what material you can for bandages and cleaning wounds. I don’t know if he’s going to be harmed when we get to him. 

Ciri hastily nodded and rushed inside the cabin to do as she was told. The first thing she did once inside was deposited her cloak over the back of the chair at the small table. She half thought to herself that the cabin was bigger on the inside than she had expected. 

Outside, Yen closed her eyes and drew a deep, slow breath and raised her hands. She focused on the feeling of chaos swelling in her heart, imagined it spreading through her veins and travelling to every part of her body mixed in with her blood; like it was part of her blood. As it moved into her fingers and warmed them, she heard the swirling start of a portal. 

She pushed down her hope and excitement to focus further on summoning the portal. Yennefer nodded for Geralt to go through and jogged in after him. She closed the portal behind them. They now stood in a clearing of trees, looking around themselves. 

Sound of hooves was coming closer to their left. Geralt drew his steel sword and readied himself. Yen summoned her own magic, ready for just about anyone coming their way. 

Sure enough, six Nilfgaard riders with Jaskier being pulled behind one of their horses. The leader, Vidar, raised his hand to stop them. “This worked faster than anyone ever could have hoped,” he laughed. “We were tipped off about a Witcher being in this area and look who’s… Oh! We have  _ your _ toy, don’t we?” he looked back at Jaskier. Tears he wasn’t able to hold back were still flowing down his cheeks and blood was still spreading from around the wound in his shoulder. 

Yen replied by sending a blast of magic at the horse Jaskier was being led by. He was brought to his knees with a shout as the horse tumbled to the ground, dead, and it’s rider fell. Howlan was trapped under the horse. Though Yen felt bad about the pain this caused Jaskier, she knew it wouldn’t cause more damage from coming to shoulder because the horse couldn’t run in fear if it was dead.

Geralt drew his silver sword and threw it, the blade going through Valdar’s throat like a warmed knife through butter with splatter and gurgle of blood. The other four men dismounted in the meantime and looked between each other with fear. They knew they couldn’t take down a mage and Witcher. 

The fools, nonetheless, drew their swords and charged. Geralt made easy work of the four while Yen rushed to Jaskeir to check on him. She unbound his hands and helped him to stand, holding him steady when he swayed on his feet. 

“Ciri-”

“She’s fine; she’s safe,” Yen promised. 

Geralt set the horses free and killed Howlan before going over to Yen and Jaskier. The Witcher picked Jaskier up in his arms, the man moaning again from the pain moving his arm caused. The position he was in was awkward because the point of the crossbow bolt coming out of the back of his shoulder was resting against Geralt’s arm. 

Yen reopened the portal and Geralt walked through it, Yen following closely behind. As soon as Geralt was through the portal, Jaskier rolled over and Geralt nearly dropped him. He just barely managed to catch Jaskier before he hit the ground. The man emptied the contents of his stomach onto the ground, the continual pain in his shoulder and the sudden movement via magic becoming too much for his body to handle.

Ciri came running out of the cabin at the sound of their arrival and her eyes instantly widened at the state Jaskier was in. His hair was more of a mess than it usually was when he woke up, his shirt was bloody, his face was red and tearstained. 

“Ciri,” Yen snapped her dazed stare. “Is everything set?” 

“Yes,” she squeaked. 

“Thank you,” Geralt nodded as he helped Jaskier toward the door. Ciri quickly held the door open for them. The Witcher sat Jaskier on the bed and propped him against the wall. “Yen-” 

The mage was already holding out a strip of leather folded over three times. Geralt took it, “you need to bite down on this so you don’t destroy your tongue,” and place the strip between Jaskier’s teeth. “This is going to hurt more than the bolt going in,” he warned. 

Yen moved and sat next to Jaskier, bracing him with her body so he wouldn’t thrash too much. Jaskier nodded and Geralt grasped the bolt with both hands, one hand on either side. “One, two,” Geralt snapped the bolt and Jaskier screamed, bearing his teeth down into the leather, and clenched his eyes shut. Just have to clean and bandage,” Geralt tried to soothe him as Yen eased the leather from between Jaskier’s teeth and helped him out of his shirt so Geralt could get to the wound. Ciri brought over a bowl of hot water with some clothes. 

The Witcher started cleaning the wound and Jaskier groaned when the wetted cloth just grazed the inner circle of the bleeding entry. “Fuck, this isn’t an experience I’d suggest to anyone.” 

“Not even Marx?” Geralt tried to lighten the situation. 

“Ugh! Fuck Marx. I’d tell him to try this.” Jaskier nodded shakily. Ciri couldn’t tell if the scoff was from pain or disgust. 

“Done with the front,” Geralt announced. He handed Yen the cloth and held the bowl for her so she could clean the exit hole of the wound. 

Jaskier allowed his body to slump against Geralt’s side a little as Yen continued her work. He couldn’t remember a time when he felt so much pain. Not even the djinn’s attack on his throat hurt this much. “If this needs stitches, please knock me out with something blunt and heavy.”

Ciri watched the adults with wide eyes. She didn’t know what to do. It seemed like Geralt and Yen had everything under control, but she still felt like she should’ve been doing something more. Ah! Geralt said they need bandages. If Yen was cleaning the back of the wound, then the bandage would be needed soon. 

“Does he need a sling?” Ciri piped up. 

“If you could, Cub,” Yen answered distractedly. She was almost done and was proud that she had yet to draw a louder than hissed sound of pain from Jaskier. 

“It’ll be a while before you can use your bow,” Geralt broke the news. 

“I figured as much,” Jaskier replied through grit teeth. “I have a favour to ask of you, Geralt.” 

“Teach me how to fight with a sword. I can’t be defenceless while my shoulder heals,” Jaskier met Geralt’s eyes. 

“I’ll use magic to quicken the healer process,” Yen promised. “It’ll help ease the pain as well between potions.” She placed the wet cloth in the bowl of bloodied water. 

Geralt turned to put it on the table but the bowl disappeared from his hand and was replaced with a roll of bandages. He nodded, again, to Ciri and set to wrapping Jaskier’s shoulder. There were a few hisses and sharp intakes of air from the pain of the joint being moved slightly to allow for easier wrapping, but he didn’t cry out. 

“You were brave, Skeir,” Yen praised, brushing a strand of hair off his forehead and tucked it behind his ear. “You did well.” 

“Except for the getting shot part. I thought they all had swords.” He groaned when Geralt tied the knot to keep the bandage in place.

Yen’s smile was soft. “You’ve grown a lot, bard.”

Jaskier met her gaze. That was something he hadn’t been called in a long time. It sounded--and felt--weird to be addressed with the title again. He cocked his head but didn’t speak on the matter. 

Ciri was the one who helped Jaskier get situated with the sling. She wanted to help and hand found a square of cloth she thought could be used for bandages if the roll wasn’t enough. Now though, she folded it in half to make a triangle and helped and tied the knot at the top of Jaskier’s shoulder. “Is that okay?” 

“That is perfect, princess. Thank you,” Jaskeir managed a smile. 

Geralt patted Jaskier’s knee and stood, going out to check on Roach while Yen smoothed down the top of his hair and started cleaning up. 

“Now what’s wrong?” Jaskier asked Ciri, holding one of her hands with the one of his that wasn’t in the sling. 

“You got hurt.” The incredulous look in her eyes yelled that he should have known what was wrong. 

“Indeed. But it happens. Geralt gets hurt quite often. I’m sure Yennefer has gotten a few scratches here and there. You’ve got a thin scar on your cheek. I’ll be alright in a couple of weeks. This isn’t even going to slow down our next plan. You’ll see.” Jaskier squeezed her hand. “And don’t go about blaming yourself for this either. I made the decision and here we are. You did nothing wrong. You even helped take care of me. So no guilt, alright?” 

Ciri hesitantly nodded. 

“Go see what Geralt and Roach are up to,” Jaskier smiled. Ciri did as she was told and Jaskier melted against the wall the second the door closed. 

“I’ll get you a potion for the pain.” Yen washed her hands. 

“You called me ‘bard’.” Jaskier followed her graceful movements with her eyes. 

“That’s what you are,” she shrugged. “No matter how hard you try to repress it, you’ll always be a bard. You're as much a bard as I am a mage, Geralt a Witcher, and Ciri a princess; it’s in your blood.” 

“It’s not. I haven’t made a living as a bard in almost a year. It’s behind me.”

“It isn’t. You know it isn’t and you’re lying to yourself when you say it is. The day I met you, you were a scared young bard. You’re not as scared now, and you’re a few years older, but you haven’t changed too much. You’re still loyal, putting everyone else before yourself. You have a new instrument, but you play music with it all the same. 

“Music channels through your veins like magic through my own. Your silent steps in the wood, the gentle force you apply on the arrows. Call yourself an archer all you want, but no mistake of Geralt’s can change what you are at heart.” And the mage went back to cleaning. 

Jaskier sat on the bed with thoughts fluttering around his mind like butterflies: going for the topic to topic and resting on each one for a few seconds before flying away to the next one. 

Maybe Yen was right. He was, at heart, very much the same person. It was his mind that changed; that said Geralt left so that side of him had to leave with him. It was Ciri, Yen, and Geralt who were bringing the music back to him- Not just Geralt. So perhaps he’d been himself all along but just needed to be tucked away for a little while to learn more about himself. 

He didn’t need to cower at the sound of footsteps in the forest, he could defend and fight for himself but there’s nothing wrong with getting help when you need it, whether you’re at the end of your rope or not. It was a confused, mixed-up world, but the four of them would help each other to stumble through the underbrush.


End file.
